


Vader's Own

by Malicean



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-01-21 07:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21295832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malicean/pseuds/Malicean
Summary: Lord Vader promotes skill, not wealth or connections. The Dark Lord's favor, nonetheless, conveys a certain political pull. A simple soldier might find himself far beyond his usual social circles that way. Though, that's just the start of his troubles …
Relationships: Bail Organa & Leia Organa, Maximilian Veers & Leia Organa
Comments: 34
Kudos: 148





	1. Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> My New Year's resolution for 2019: crosspost my works from FFnet to AO3 at last.
> 
> **Vader's Own **was first posted on FFnet on 12-30-12 to 01-26-14.
> 
> * * *
> 
> AUish. Or maybe just a couple of missing scenes from a younger, less serious time.
> 
> * * *

Maximilian Veers was starting to wonder if it wasn't too late to decline the promotion. Not that he wasn't proud of his newly earned rank, and the sheer impossibility of refusing Lord Vader's favor aside, but two hours into the exalted gathering, the freshly minted colonel was longing for the days, back when his commanding officer had not yet thought it politic – _how he hated that word!_ – to drag Veers along to … whatever this festivity was supposed to celebrate.

The aristocrats were sneering at him because he wasn't one of them. The Alderaanis were frowning at him for being a career soldier. The Alderaani aristocrats were going for a double score – and there were plenty of those at a high-class get-together only one system over from the Alderaani sector – while a few particularly intrepid souls added extra disdain for his association with the – absent, naturally – Sithlord.

None of which, unfortunately, would serve as a deterrent against the dozen or so females who'd set their sights on him. The ladies – using the term _exclusively_ to denote rank – seemed to regard the wedding band he wore as a challenge, and the fact that most of them were still hanging on to the arms of their respective _… companions_ as no hindrance.

Veers had managed to steal half an hour of agreeable discussion with a civilian engineer, but had spent the rest of the time resisting the temptation to follow the example of a handful of local fleet officers who were slowly but surely draining the bar dry.

He _had_ ditched his ridiculous flute of champagne for a glass of straight Corellian whiskey; but only an idiot or a prospective suicide got drunk in a minefield, social or otherwise, and Veers wasn't _that_ desperate yet. Instead, he had scouted along the outskirts of the ballroom until he had found a way to access the open balconies beyond, and gone for some fresh air.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

He had all of ten glorious seconds to himself before a polite soprano greeted him with, "Colonel."

Veers had not, hitherto, considered white silk as a camouflage material, but against a backdrop of highly polished white marble, the slight, silk-wrapped figure had been all but invisible until it moved.

"Milady," he gave back with a small bow, hurriedly trying to come up with a way of retreating to another, unoccupied balcony that didn't look like he was running from a girl half his size. Preferably, before it came to light that he had not the slightest idea who she might be. He had seen her enter at the arm of some Alderaani dignitary old enough to be her father ….

_Actually, the guy damn well better **is** her father, seeing how, up close, the girl beneath the regal air and adult attire can't be a day over fourteen. Possibly less. _

"So, Colonel, whose company do_ you_ prefer the stars' to?"

_Say again?_ "I beg your pardon, ma'am?"

Wraithlike, a slender arm draped in white was raised towards the night sky.

"I couldn't stand the company inside anymore," the girl explained with refreshing candidness, "and I always loved to watch the stars. So I went and looked for home."

Pale fingers pointed out the brilliant star dominating the Aldraig night, even in this light-polluted area, as befitting a neighboring sun. "Where are you from?"

Nonplussed, Veers simply stared at her for a moment. He had not looked for his homeplanet's primary since his first night at the Academy, when a homesick recruit had realized that he was now a good third of the circumference around the galactic disk and the stars above him entirely unfamiliar. But then, the girl was even younger than he had been at that time ….

"Denon," he replied gruffly. "Too far to be visible from here."

"Ah, yes, of course. The Inner Rim stars are only visible from the Orus to the Airon sector."

_Full points for astronomy._ A soft peal of laughter told the colonel that he must have been thinking aloud.

"Why, thank you, good sir." White silk whispered as the young lady dropped teasingly into a full court curtsey, the stateliness of the gesture somewhat lessened by an ill-concealed grin.

"I can even name all the constellations visible from here," the girl went on, "they are virtually the same as at home. Except for Agek, the stalking bird, who is now a cyclops because Alderraan outshines the usual eye stars."

Almost against his will, Veers found himself laughing, too.

"By all means, milady," he gave back his most regal bow, "pray do enlighten me."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Nearly half an hour went by in amiable banter, the rancorless, open disregard of convention a welcome counterpoint to the icily polite disdain that had previously dominated the evening. The competent discussion of constellations had gradually become interspaced with a dissection of the ongoing festivity, its cause – the governor's eldest daughter's debut, apparently – and its illustrious guests with a razor-sharp wit and tongue. The first few – well-aimed and well-deserved – barbs had evidently been a test, but when they had failed to incite an indignant reaction _(to be honest, the girl had a tendency to pick up Veers' own thoughts regarding certain people that bordered on the uncanny)_, the young lady had cheerfully warmed to the topic.

The colonel wouldn't have been a very good tactician, though, if he hadn't realized he was being herded. The girl – the Princess of Alderaan as he had found out in the meantime, by way of a careless remark begun by an offhanded "My father, as the Viceroy, …" – was being rather subtle about it, in a couple of years she would definitely be a dangerous discussant, but for now it was still noticeable that she was steering the topic of conversation … somewhere.

Or someone, possibly.

Given her peers' reaction to his uniform and her quite indifferent one, the Alderaani Highness was obviously going through some teenage rebellion stage. Complete with a fascination towards forbidden – or in this case: _military_ – things.

"… too bad the Catao nebula isn't visible from here, due to light pollution," said little rebel was just saying, inching towards her real target under the cover of astronomy. "Without it, Paltan isn't really much to look at. His ancient name literally translates as _'He of the starless mantle'_."

The girl laughed lightly, in reminiscence. "The first time I saw Lord Vader on the news as a child, I called _him_ Paltan. My parents were not amused."

_A sensible reaction._ Before Veers could say anything, however, the princess threw him a shrewd look.

"You are one of _His_, aren't you? I have heard people mention it. What is he like?"

The dark eyes sparkled with something that was halfway between childish and female curiosity, and somehow the colonel felt the Sithlord an inappropriate subject to either. He tried to head off the topic by pleading ignorance. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

The girl was having none of that.

"You are one of _Vader's Own_," she challenged, "one of the people he has promoted himself. Aren't you?"

_One of _Vader's Own_ – what a fancy title._ Veers nearly shook his head at the pretentious description, but saw no reason to answer in the negative. "If you insist of calling it that way, yes, I am."

A radiant smile lit up the girl's face, just visible in the semi-darkness. "Then you must know: What is he like, when he is not pretending to be the Emperor's three-dimensional shadow?"

"Excuse me?" Irritation at the flippancy lent a bit of an edge to the colonel's tone.

Alas, the young princess was not as easily discouraged.

"All that Lord Vader does at official functions is to loom, tall and dark, behind His Majesty," she explained nonchalantly. "I am certain there is more to him than _that_."

Another impish smile. "After all, it is only in ancient fairytales where one finds the sort of sorcerer that can detach his own shadow and sent it away to do his – usually sinister – bidding. And while there is little enough confirmable information about his lordship that he might just as well be a mythological creature, he is obviously not."

Maybe that made him a less than ideal Imperial, but while Veers could effortlessly decide that the unflattering simile about the old man on the throne had been a case of childish babble and could be safely ignored, he felt less sanguine about the dismissive way the girl spoke about his Supreme Commander. "Young lady, this is not a joking matter!"

Everything childish fell away like a dropped mask, and for a moment the colonel caught a glimpse of the young woman that would be a force to be reckoned with, in a few more years.

"You admire him." No guess at all, but dead certainty.

"Of course, I do! Lord Vader is the best damn commander I have ever met – and I have been a soldier for longer than you have been alive! A master tactician and always along at the frontlines, either with the ground troops or with the TIEs. He …. " Veers shook his head. "You have neither the knowledge nor the experience to appreciate what I am talking about!"

"No, I don't," the girl snapped, with unexpected fierceness, "because the moment I mention him, everyone changes the topic!"

She caught herself, with visible effort.

"My apologies, Colonel," she went on, with a seriousness far beyond her years. "I misspoke. Would you please consider telling me more, regardless?"

It would have served her right if he just turned on his heels now and walked away. But then, he should have done that the moment he had noticed her presence on the balcony.

"He has no tolerance for incompetence," Veers conceded with a scowl.

The princess gave a soft, startled laugh.

"Ah, finally, a kindred soul," she murmured under her breath, before wondering, "Does he never have to deal with Imperial administration? How does he manage not to strangle the bureaucrats, five minutes into each committee meeting?"

"He doesn't, on occasion, I expect," the colonel told her drily.

The girl gave an amused snort, that was utterly unladylike but very much a teenager, before sobering abruptly. "It is true then, that he kills his own men, sometimes?"

Veers rubbed a hand across his face in frustration. "Child, an incompetent officer has the potential to kill more of his own troops than any enemy can ever hope to."

The princess looked about to argue when she was stopped by the intrusion of new voices and steps. A young woman and a slightly older man stepped onto the balcony. With their eyes still accustomed to the bright glare of the inside lights, they didn't seem to notice that it was already occupied.

"Now, isn't this much better than that stiff atmosphere inside?" the man asked.

The woman agreed softly, a few more words were exchanged and then the man's arm slid from her arm to around her hips and … lower. The woman tried to sidestep.

"None of that, Hawkur, please."

The man tightened his grip, drawing the woman closer, crowding her against the balustrade. "Come on, Siofra, turnabout is fair play. You asked me for a favor, now it's my turn to …"

Veers had been about to announce his presence by stepping over to twist the molester's arm off his victim – and probably off the shoulder joint, too – when a swirl of white silk shot past him, radiating anger like a furnace heat. The colonel had seen the great steelworks supplying the Kuat shipyards, so he felt competent to draw the comparison.

He had also seen such incandescent wrath before, and for one vertigo-inducing moment, the petite princess reminded him of a much taller Sithlord.

"Undersecretary Kilesa, how dare you! ..."

The young woman was no fool, she fled the moment Mr. Kilesa was otherwise preoccupied. Veers hung back, mesmerized. He had rarely witnessed such a devastating dressing-down, and never one as exquisitely worded. The colonel didn't hear a single word unfit to be uttered in polite company, but still the man went red and white repeatedly, in rapid succession.

In a last-ditch effort he lunged at the girl, but she ducked away from his first grab and kicked out in a way that hurt just watching, both because of how pointed her shoes were and because of how instable her footing had to be, on those high heels. The man folded with a gasp.

Eyes still aflame, the princess turned back at Veers. "Please excuse me, Colonel. I have to make sure that Miss Hevgon is alright."

Head held high and fury surrounding her with a presence far beyond her stature, Her Highness of Alderaan stormed off.

Veers also stepped back into the ballroom. And if there was a crunch of bone beneath his boot-heel – well, people really ought to know better than to let their limbs laying around where someone might step on them. Especially, when they were trying to align a small hold-out blaster with the back of a young girl.


	2. Reaction

For the rest of the evening, Veers kept half an eye on the diminutive princess. A few quiet words with security had removed a certain piece of scum from the premises, but better safe than sorry.

He watched the man she had entered the party with pounce on her – in a most dignified manner, naturally – the moment she reemerged from wherever she'd disappeared to with the unfortunate Miss Hevgon. Her pale complexion almost milky against his much darker tan, there was nonetheless a certain family resemblance in the way they held themselves, the colonel decided. The tall, well-dressed man obviously demanded an accounting of her whereabouts, but since there was more worry than possessiveness in his body language, Veers left them to it.

The little firebrand could use a good scolding for the stunts she'd pulled.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Veers had been contemplating a suitable replacement for his now empty glass of Whyren's Reserve when a soft voice spoke up beside him.

"I couldn't help but notice that you are paying my daughter an unusual amount of attention, Colonel."

The refined, Old Core accent of the born aristocrat would have put Veers on edge even without the insinuations.

"Your daughter is a child, sir," he gave back frostily. "Are you questioning my intelligence for not noticing, or my integrity for pursuing her regardless?"

"Neither or both, depending on your reasons to do so."

The colonel turned, to look straight – a somewhat uncommon occurrence, usually a downward component was involved – into a pair of dark eyes that met his glare with a calm but steely determination. Veers swallowed his first, angry reaction.

"Your daughter has no sense of self-preservation, sir," he said gruffly.

_Spoiled little princess that she is, that never had to face the consequences of her actions, _he added silently, hoping whimsically that the uncanny knack for guessing people's thoughts had been a paternal heritage.

The tall dignitary went very, very still.

"What makes you say that, Colonel?" he asked, voice as smooth and cool – and potentially dangerous – as freshly formed ice.

Veers almost grinned. Mind-reader or not, the viceroy cum senator was clearly rattled.

"What has your daughter told you about the … incident, earlier?" the colonel asked back.

Prince Organa eyed him for a moment, the implacable calm of the trained diplomat shielding his features like a mask, before he slumped, minutely.

"Not nearly enough, obviously," he said with a small sigh. "Understand, Colonel, my daughter would never lie to me, but it would seem she is beginning to practice the art of cautious editing."

_A politician's child, what did you expect?!_ Before Veers could comment aloud, the other man continued, "According to _her _version, she spent half an hour in an astronomical discussion with a like-minded soul from the Aldraig deputation, who also preferred the company of the stars to that available indoors."

A speculative look ran down his uniform and the colonel nodded curtly.

Another, nigh-undetectable sigh. The Aldraig deputation had been half military, half civilian functionaries, and the princess of the staunchly pacifistic world of Alderaan had obviously thought it prudent to leave her father in the dark about which half she had found common interests with.

"Said discussion was then abruptly terminated by the arrival of the – as of tonight _former_ – Undersecretary Kilesa, intent on taking inacceptable liberties with Miss Hevgon," Organa went on. "The unexpected presence of witnesses deterred Mr. Kilesa, my daughter told him off – in no uncertain terms, I presume –" Veers could only nod in emphatic agreement, "before she went on to console Miss Hevgon."

The glacial implacability resurfaced. "What else should I be aware of, Colonel?"

"Kilesa tried to counter her verbal flaying by physical violence," Veers reported bluntly.

"And though she put those spiked monstrosities women call dress-shoes to good use," he gave a small nod of approval, "the fact remains that she turned her back on that … piece of scum immediately afterwards, and the man had a blaster …."

His Serene Highness went pale.

"She ought to have mentioned _that!"_ he said faintly.

"I doubt she noticed," the colonel conceded. "He didn't reach for it until she'd turned and," Veers allowed himself a vicious smile, "he never got very far."

Pacifistic ideals didn't quite cut it when one's kids were threatened, apparently. The tall aristocrat met his gaze with one just as fierce.

"You wouldn't know, by any chance, where I could find Mr. Kilesa, now?"

"I had a few words with security, explaining that he tried to assault a young woman and then attacked a teenaged girl when his first attempt was thwarted. I wasn't too fancy with the details – but I doubt he is enjoying his stay."

"I see." The Viceroy of Alderaan held out his hand for a firm shake.

"You have my thanks, Colonel!" he said earnestly.

When Veers would have released the other man's fingers, however, Organa clenched his – and _damn_, but for a soft-spoken diplomat the man had a strong grip.

"Do not doubt, though, that should I find out that your association with my daughter was initiated with less than honorable intentions in mind, I will destroy you, utterly. And I will make use of all the means available to me, by my rank, wealth and station, to do so."

Seeing how he dealt with threats as a profession, the colonel wasn't overly impressed; but – much to his chagrin – he found himself starting to like the aristocratic politician.

"Fair enough, Your Highness."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

They exchanged a few more words on the willfulness of children in their teens. Veers admitted to having a son in that particular age group himself but argued that, given the man-eaters prowling the ballroom, he wouldn't have wanted _any_ teenaged child of his on the loose at the ongoing party, regardless of gender. Organa, always the shrewd politician, used this as a case in point before he excused himself, intent to have a few more words, concerning non-omissible information, with his own little hellion.

When he finally got leave to exit the ball, the colonel found himself in a much better mood than he would have expected at the opening.


	3. Response

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains traces of nuts. May cause slight feelings of irritation – if so, read the A/N at the bottom before you cry foul, will you?

* * *

The situation on Nihoa was a mess.

A combined tectonic and political upheaval[1] had left the planet bereft of a functioning governmental body; consequently, the initial panic had erupted into anarchy, turning all relief efforts – intra- or interplanetary – into a farce.

Colonel Veers and three full battalions of walkers plus auxiliaries had been charged with restoring peace and order. The first indication of how dire the local circumstances really were, had been the fact that the ranking officer of the Imperial Forces in and around the capital had been a dead exhausted lieutenant. A local boy, judging by his accent, he had done as much as possible with his severely decimated forces, but in a major crisis personal entanglements were more hindrance than help, in Veers' experience.

Then, when the colonel had been halfway through his carefully scripted introduction speech – courtesy of the Imperial Department of Information – delivered from the top of the command section of his kneeling AT-AT, a figure in shabby but fiery red robes had started to screech back, perched on a half-crumbled piece of masonry high above the main crowd.

Gangs of looters, raiders and black-marketeers were just one side of the trouble brewing among the ruins, as it were. Ancient beliefs, volcano gods lain dormant for as long as their respective home mountain and likewise thought to be extinct, had resurfaced with a vengeance in the aftermath of the eruption, and had made an already dismal situation a lot worse. Doom preachers, declaring the disaster a just punishment for sleazy politicians, for corruption brought about by outworlders, or simply and all-encompassingly for a sinful populace, had appeared at every corner and whipped the frightened masses into a frenzy. As a result, relief teams had been hindered or even come under attack, and much needed supplies spilled senselessly onto the rubble; all to appease an indifferent force of nature. Or rather, in Veers' indubitably blasphemous opinion, to satisfy the (self-)destructive tendencies of certain self-proclaimed prophets.

The colonel had toggled the comlink at his collar and talked on, ignoring the interruption. His words, amplified by speakers mounted at the chin of each walker, had drowned out a voice distorted by hysteria.

About two sentences later, a stone the size of his fist had gone ricochet against the armored main body of the AT-AT, next to Veers' head. _Enough firepower to level what was left of the city, and the nutjob thought it opportune to throw a stone at the man at the front – I hate fanatics!_

The crowd had started to panic, even before a single bolt of plasma had gone over their heads and a bundle of red rags toppled down. There had been deaths in that panic alone, but if even one of his men had reacted without waiting for orders ….

Veers had skipped the rest of the script at that point.

"I have been given the job of restoring peace and order, and by all gods, I will do so! Do not mistake me for someone sprouting empty words," he had snarled, reholstering his sidearm – and the crowd seemed convinced.

Repeats of his words had echoed across the ruins for the rest of the day, in an endless loop, all over the city, as the walkers set up patrols through all the major lanes. The heavy AT-ATs crunched their way straight through the rubble, beating the track for the lighter, more agile but more obstacle-limited scout walkers and the purely repulsor driven transports behind those.

Word-of-mouth had spread even more quickly.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

By the end of the day, Veers was wishing he could use this quick and final way of dealing with irritants more often. The heads of more than a dozen relief teams, from at least as many different planets, were clamoring for troop escorts and condemning his use of excessive force, decrying the way the heavy walkers had indiscriminately compressed the debris as murderous in regards of still buried survivors and demanding more access routes to be cleared – often all of the above in the same breath.

"It has been over a week since the earthquake, with freezing nights in-between, the likelihood of survivors underneath the rubble was practically nil," a regretful but firm voice unexpectedly came to his defense.

In all this bedlam, the calm assurance of the grizzled, experienced leader of the Alderaani strike team was an unanticipated boon. Better organized and less obnoxious in its demands than most others, Veers leaned heavily on the older man's example to get the rest of the helpful mess sorted out, at long last; and then the colonel could finally prepare for the less cooperative elements he expected to meet, soon.

He was not disappointed. The first night was bloody, very bloody.

The second one barely less.

The third one was very, very quiet.

Or as quiet as could be with the reverberating steps of the walkers patrolling the city, each stride a roll of muted thunder as the ground rang hollowly beneath their weight, like a gigantic bass drum. Within days, the locals called the machines _earth-shakers_.

Veers swore that the first person to liken _him_ to one of the volcano gods would get tossed from the top hatch of a marching AT-AT.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

It was past midnight near the end of the second week, just when the colonel had managed to make a significant dent into the accumulating paperwork and was about to call it a night, when one of the returning patrol leaders saw fit to knock at his door.

Forcing down the urge to scratch the back of his neck – half-healed lacerations still smarted some eight days later where the collar chafed at them, said stone had shed a spray of sharp splinters upon impact – Veers called out resignedly, "Come in."

The night had again been quiet so far, but Lt. Koa was one of his most levelheaded men and usually smart enough to use his own head; especially, if the alternative disturbed a superior, already cranky from lack of sleep, at such a late hour.

"Sir, we caught this … uh, person breaking curfew in the Kapia district." The lanky lieutenant made a curiously helpless gesture. "She insisted, sir."

This … uh, person wore a light grey jumpsuit that might have once been white before the ubiquitous dust covered it, and didn't quite come up to the armored shoulders of the two soldiers keeping a hand around each of her arms, but the indignant glare more than made up for the lack of physical stature.

_Princess Organa. I wish I was more surprised. _The girl had arrived a couple of days ago, along with the second wave of reinforcements for the Alderaani relief team. She had greeted him with a smile so brilliant that the colonel had managed a small one of his own in return (no matter how bleak the situation in general) – before she'd argued for half an hour to ease the restrictions placed on the populace. Veers still didn't know what had possessed him to _argue back_, instead of _stating authoritatively_ how things _were_. He also had no idea what Prince Organa had been thinking, to allow his teenaged daughter in the middle of a disaster area cum war zone. "Mercy missions are a staple for princesses" just didn't cut it, in the colonel's opinion.

Veers glared right back, even as he gestured at the soldiers to relax their restraining grip.

"How many escorts did she have?"

The lieutenant hesitated momentarily, and the urge to vault over his desk, grab the little idiot by that ridiculous tangle of braids she wore, and shake some sense into her, became nearly overwhelming.

"No escorts," the colonel said slowly, in a tone that made the younger officer nod a hasty confirmation before stepping back, out of the line of fire, so to speak. _Smart man._

"**What the hell have you been thinking, young lady?! **Sneaking off alone, at night, during a general lock-down, in a city full of armed insurgents and the even more heavily armed forces hunting them!"

The politician's daughter drew wounded righteousness around her like an icy armor. "I was thinking of going home to bed, peacefully, when your men attacked me!"

Veers checked the time and subtracted half an hour.

"You were going home," he repeated dangerously, "at one in the morning? That's no time for a kid …"

Pale cheeks colored. "That's not for you to decide! You're not my father!"

_Now, **there** was a terrifying thought._ "Thank heavens, no! I would have shot myself years ago, undoubtedly.

You, too," he added as an afterthought, "that would have made the galaxy a much more peaceable place."

"Excuse me? That's …"

"And actually, it _is_ for me to decide," the colonel cut across her squeak of indignation. "I realize that the word _'Curfew'_ has held no real significance for a spoiled little princess like you so far, **but this is a city under martial law!** That means curfews are enforced by deadly force! If Lt. Koa hadn't used some discretion in his orders to …."

"Oh, they did try to shoot me, they just couldn't hit me!" the infuriating girl interrupted right back, with the smug, if entirely unfounded, superiority only a teenager sky-high on adrenaline could muster.

_Alright, that did it!_ Veers stood, took a hold of the little troublemaker by the scruff of the neck, and shoved her back into the arms of the (increasingly bemused by the heated exchange) waiting soldiers.

"Take her down to the eastern yard, Koa. Show her what happens if you _do_ shoot to kill!"

The dark eyes went wide. "What?! But you can't … You can't just shoot me! I have rights! I …"

The colonel leaned forward, using all of his 95 kilograms against her barely 50 to lend emphasis to his words. He rapped a knuckle against his rank plates. "_This_, in combination with the aforementioned martial law, says _I can_."

He looked up. "Lieutenant."

The younger man's face was stony. "Sir?"

"Do as I said. Then return here, understood?"

"Yessir."

"Dismissed."

The princess was quiet when the armored soldiers dragged her away. The look in her eyes, however, was the sort that could haunt a man for the rest of his days – if one felt so inclined.

Shock and utter betrayal.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Twenty minutes later, it was smoldering anger.

Her Highness was looking more than a little green around the gills – unsurprisingly, heavy blaster wounds were never a pleasant sight and the eastern yard had served as a makeshift storage place for the bodies of those killed by patrols for the last few days. Tonight's haul had been no more than a dozen, but the stench of burnt and torn bodies and beginning corruption hung thickly in the enclosed space.

Anger was probably the only thing keeping the girl upright. It was more than enough, apparently.

"You tricked me!" she accused, the moment she was back through the door to his office.

"Did I?" Veers asked back mildly – twenty minutes had proven enough to get over his own agitation. "Lieutenant Koa, remind me, what were my exact words?"

"Take her down to the eastern yard and show her what happens if we do shoot to kill," the junior officer parroted back obediently.

"Quite so." The colonel turned back towards the princess. "I hope what you saw was not to your liking?"

"Not to my …? Of course not! Wh…"

"Good. I trust your father would have liked the sight even less, if it had been your corpse in a body bag down there."

_That_ shut her up, for the moment at least. Making good use of the blessed silence, Veers went on to put the rest of the affair to order.

"Lieutenant, inform the Alderaani emergency relief team that I wish to have a few words with their chief of security, at his earliest convenience. Tell them it concerns his wayward princess – that should get a reaction."

The colonel dismissed the soldiers, set the girl to the task of writing a statement about the sequence of events that had brought her to his office, starting with the moment she'd decided to leave the rest of the Alderaani relief team, and went back to his own pile of paperwork while they waited.

A few minutes of frowning thoughtfully at the datapad and a few more of typing rapidly produced an elegant piece of wordsmithing, full of sophisticated syntax, flawless grammar and elaborate vocabulary, that boiled down to:

_I couldn't sleep. I had heard about this local (name or description unknown, but I got a likely area to start looking) that could be a great help to the relief efforts and decided to go look for him. Since the natives have a different circadian rhythm than humans, searching him out at night wasn't a stupid idea. I couldn't find him, though, because that pesky patrol rudely interrupted me._

In short, there were holes in that story you could steer an AT-AT through. Hells, it could probably do cart-wheels. Nonetheless, the princess denied repeatedly that there was anything of relevance to add. In the end, Veers silently swapped her datapad for one from his own pile.

The girl stared at the data columns uncomprehendingly. "What am I looking at?"

"Civilian death rate, before and after our forces touched down." There was a nasty spike on the first and second day, admittedly, but then the numbers had dropped to a fraction of the pre-touchdown anarchy.

He gave her a minute to absorb the figures, then reached over the table and put a hand around her chin. "Girl, look at me. Are you involved with any of the local insurgent groups?"

"No, Colonel," she said, looking straight into his eyes.

He believed her.

That didn't stop Veers from advising the Alderaani Sec-chief to put the princess under lock-and-key by night and on a leash during daylight forays. The harassed-looking man seemed quite agreeable, despite the girl's vehement protests.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Three days later, the colonel found out what had been omitted when the princess dropped by in the early evening with a lean but wiry, middle-aged native in tow, smugly triumphant as only a child outsmarting adults can be.

"Tonuga Molokai, allow me to present Colonel Veers," she said proudly, by way of introduction.

Veers nodded politely. "A pleasure, I'm sure. But your reasons for …"

He petered off. The Nihoans were near-humans that might pass inspection at a cursory glance, but now, with the usually half-closed nictitating membranes drawing back, the colonel stared into eyes that were decidedly inhuman. Solid color, apparently pupilless eyes in various shades of brown and amber were a defining feature of the species, but he had never before seen quite that tone of molten metal. _Or molten lava, come to think of it. _

Veers started to reach for his sidearm. "You're one of the damn volcano high-priests!"

Twin pools of liquid fire regarded him impassively. "I am. One of the ancient line. Tell me, Tonuga kawa,_ Warmaster, _Veers, have you ever seen eyes like mine among the screaming fools?"

"No. But I rarely get the chance to look at them that closely."

A regal inclination of the angular head. "Understandable."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

One hour later, the colonel found himself standing atop his AT-AT once more, while beneath him twenty meters of durasteel monster slowly went to its knees.

Veers knew a few scout commanders who preferred to ride in the open top hatch of their vessels, for the enhanced surround view that position afforded – not to speak of a certain daredevil aspect. An AT-AT, on the other hand, was too massive to gain any surveillance advantage by such a maneuver – the daredevil aspect, however, increased with the height.

The high-priestess had insisted on the dramatic entrance – that the colonel could agree with. The slight, white-clad figure on his other side, however, currently wearing an expression of gleeful excitement while polished armor swayed under her feet, had been supposed to stay safely inside; at the very least, until the massive war machine stopped moving!

_Leash,_ he thought viciously_, leash and a really solid anchor!_

Molokai started speaking. Veers couldn't understand a word of her speech – but damn, the lady had a fine oratory voice. Both facts combined should have worried him – _and since when was the intuition of a fifteen-year-old girl a sound base for tactical decisions, anyway?_ – but the crowd didn't turn aggressive under the passionate sermon.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Sanctioned by an authority with undeniably authentic legitimations, the fervor whipped up before was now channeled into _protecting and supporting_ the relief and reconstruction efforts.

Between a populace no longer ignoring their lawless dealings and the uncompromising pursuit by the Imperial Forces, the criminal gangs were all but subdued by the end of the month, too, and peace was restored.

Or, as a certain exasperating child would put it: "We make a good team, don't we?"

* * *

[1] The Nihoan governor – not the most popular of leaders but no worse than most – had, as he was wont to do at this time of the year, retired to one of the fashionable hot-spring bathes some 200 kilometers south of the capital. Most of the planet's Who-is-Who could be found there, too; partly because they meant to strike a deal with the system ruler while he was at his most relaxed, partly because it had been just the thing to do, at this season, for centuries.

This year, however, the snow-capped cone providing the picturesque background for all those sentimental souvenir holos abruptly shed a full third of its 4500-meter height, and buried some 2000 square kilometers under the ash-and-fire cataclysm of a gigantic pyroclastic flow. Simultaneously, an aerosol plume of half-molten volcanic glass reached up to the stratosphere and downed all but the most hardy – or most lucky – flight craft in an even larger area.

Faint warning shivers had gone unnoticed among the regular tremors so common in the region that the locals didn't even notice them anymore; as the eruption proceeded to vent tectonic pressure build up over the course of millennia, however, the tension beneath the surrounding formations rebounded like a stretched rubber sheet suddenly released – a rubber sheet the size of half a continent. While the remnants of the Nihoan government were still reeling under this all but decapitating blow, the capital (plus thousands of smaller settlements, but their population total barely reached that of the planet's largest city) was devastated by an earthquake of unprecedented magnitude. The newly built Imperial representative buildings were hit hardest, but plenty of the older architecture came down like houses of cards, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The religious nutjobs aren't based on any real-life examples, or rather, of course they are, but only secondhand. I was reading 40K novels by D. Abnett when this chapter first took shape, within sight of Mt. Vesuvius.
> 
> A/N 2: As some of you doubtlessly noticed, I also used certain Hawaiian motives (in keeping with the volcano theme), especially for naming people and places. Tonuga is a mix of the Hawaiian and the Polynesian words for a title meaning 'master/mistress of his/her chosen trade'. Doesn't matter if that trade is building boats, cooking meals – or communication with higher forces. A master shipwright, a chef and a priest get the same title in that system. As does a warchief (or commanding officer) ….


	4. Payback

It was getting harder and harder to keep reality and imaginary specters apart – blood loss and dehydration did that to a man. Old Man Forgest had at least had the decency to stay a mere gruff voice in his head, but now he could _see_ a white apparition wavering in from of him. It seemed quite insistent that he should come with it, but he made sure not to let go of the tree. Even while stopping for an – excessively often necessary – breather, he needed to keep upright or he would never get up again.

_Though, you mustn't fall asleep on your feet, either – maybe talking to the mirage would keep you awake?_ Subconsciously, he leaned towards the white wisp of imagination, found something solid that coincided remarkably well with the specter and leaned onto that, too.

The world tilted.

The forest floor was both warmer and softer than he had expected. Maybe it wouldn't be_ that_ bad if he rested his legs for just a moment ….

He blackened out.

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Something was squirming beneath his belly. Instincts, far older than sentience, screeched _'something's trying to eat you!'_ and he arched away from the writhing snake, grub, whatever.

Agony flared in his shoulder at the unthinking move, and he barely managed to catch himself on his good arm when he fell back with a guttural cry.

Terrified dark eyes stared into his, less than a handbreadth away.

He blinked – and the silence splintered into high-pitched chattering.

Apparently, the specter had split in two when he had fallen over. One half, the one he had fallen onto when he had taken it for real, looked like a dark-haired girl – one wearing a familiar face even, though the little princess's factual presence in these backwater woodlands was about as preposterous as that of his long dead instructor. The other half, approaching rapidly through the swaying undergrowth with what looked like a standard-issue vehicle first aid case in hand, was a color-swapped, white-haired version.

_Hallucination – didn't have to make sense._

"Leia! I told you not to try and move him alone, he's twice your weight!" the pale figure to his left snapped. "Now look what has …, oh Sith!"

Something squirmed a bit more and what felt like small hands took up some of his weight. "What?! What's wrong, Winter?"

Winter wore snowy hair – _perfectly sensible, by delusion standards_. He decided not to let her touch him, he couldn't afford to lose any more body heat.

"There is a piece of metal sticking from his back." Oddly enough, the frost specter sounded close to being sick.

"What?! Take it out!"

"No! No, we mustn't! He might bleed to death, otherwise."

"That's …." the faux-familiar voice next to him – _what had the winter called her, Leia?_ – trailed off. "You remember that from somewhere, right? You _know _what you are doing?"

"I remember this from a basic first aid course in primary school, yes. And I remember anatomy books. His shoulder blade is broken, I believe. The joint is not where it's supposed to be. I suspect a concussion, too, since his eyes don't focus properly."

He made a croaky noise of agreement. Something brushed the tattered sleeve on his good arm aside and pinched the back of his hand. He barely felt it.

"Severely dehydrated, too. Even I remember how to check for that. Alright, Winter, you do whatever you can about the shoulder wound, I'll get some water into him. Then we take him to the speeder and into hospital, as fast as possible."

Winter sighed, incongruously warm air ghosting over his face. "You realize that he weighs about as much as the two of us combined, do you? And the speeder can't any nearer without getting tangled in the undergrowth."

He was growing to like that part of the illusion. Would have been nice if the real little firebrand had her own levelheaded voice of reason, too.

He liked even more the part where some cool liquid trickled into his mouth, soothing his parched throat. At that point, he didn't really care if he'd found an actual source of water, or was just dreaming up the desperately needed drink – it felt good, either way.

Something tugged at the cloth sticking to his injured back or catching at the ragged piece of exploded scout ship. Expectations, seared into his brain these last … _two? ... three? ..._ days, made him brace for the pain, but the white-hot spikes felt strangely dull, his shoulder numb and growing number.

The deadened sensations couldn't be a good sign – _you let _Winter_ touch you, what did you expect? _– but the lack of pain was welcome. He obeyed when the soft voice told him to drink some more water and let the babble wash over him, otherwise.

"Father is doing the circuit through the nearer systems and took me along, in preparation for next year's campaign, I guess. I went to the command post, because someone had told me you were here, but they wouldn't let me in. It wasn't until I lost my temper," – he smirked, that sounded a _very_ lifelike reaction – "that someone told me you'd been shot down and were missing in action."

The unreal voice faltered. "My father said …, my father said you had made a decision, long ago, to become a soldier; and part of that decision was to accept the risk of dying or getting lost. He said it very gently – but I'm not very good at accepting things!"

He could imagine the defiant tilt of her chin so very well, at that last remark, he didn't even have to look at her – _which was circular logic, once you thought about it, because he was imagining her in the first place._

But acceptance … passive acceptance wasn't his forte, either. He struggled back to his feet, his elbow catching Winter solidly in the face.

The pale specter cursed in fluent Bothese – she sounded like an angry cat.

"Remind me, Leia," she went on more intelligibly, "why are we doing this, again?"

A brittle laugh, the sort just one step left of hysteria. "Winter, you never need a reminder, you don't forget anything!"

"I remember what you told me, but the words must have made more sense then, than they do now. So, I must be missing something."

He ignored the squabble and staggered on. The mirage had been quite useful to get his feet back under him, but he needed to find more substantial help before hypovolemic shock, infection or hypothermia finished him off.

Twin wisps of white appeared back at his side, urging him deeper into the undergrowth. It wasn't worth the effort to defy them, he decided, when the first attempt to ignore them made him walk into something solid. Not that his sense of direction was worth a damn anyway, anymore.

He staggered on, for maybe a few hundred – endless – meters, the two persistent phantoms miraculously supporting him whenever he needed to catch his balance, until he fell across something cool and metal.

Things got _really_ hazy after that.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

"… no, you pilot! We are trying to transport a deadweight here that nearly outweighs the two of us. I can't rebalance that if he shifts suddenly. You do!"

"Don't call him _dead_weight!"

"Sorry, Leia. But still …."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

"Leia, we need to get our story straight. _'I'm just good at finding things'_ made your own father look at you weirdly, last time. I don't think any Imperial official is going to buy that …."

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Soft, if slightly damp, sweet-smelling moss beneath his face and a distant voice calling imperiously, "Hey! Hey you, Officer! There is an injured man in the woods, over there, he needs immediate medical attention!"

"It's a trap, sir," metallic distortion rasped back.

"What? No! It's not! Listen, he's dressed the same grey as you are, except he's wearing six squares, here, and …"

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

He woke to the familiar – if utterly loathed – taste of gunmetal and tangerette juice in his mouth that signified a substantial bacta dunk.

Blinking sluggishly, he found equally familiar grey uniforms and sterile walls surrounding him.

"Ah, you are awake." Bright lights blinded him abruptly. "Pupillary reflex back to normal, good, good. Now, I need you to answer a few questions for me. Who are you?"

"Veers, Maximilian Julian. Colonel. C4827-18633."

"Good, that checks with your ID-chip and iris scan. The name of this planet?"

_Trick question._ "The last planet I remember for certain is Cardua. _This_ might be anywhere. And before you ask, the last date I can be absolutely sure of was 15:04:25. I expect, it's now at least three days later."

A pause, then a slow smile. The uniformed doctor nodded appreciatively. "Very good, Colonel. It's five days, by the way, though you spent almost two of those in bacta, and the planet is still the same. And now for the question I'm sure you'll grow sick and tired of hearing, over the next few days: what do you remember, of what happened five days ago?"

Veers thought back. "Scout trip through sector 52. We got shot down near the edge of the Onithean range, blast took out two thirds of the repulsors and a substantial portion of the cabin. Three dead immediately. Pilot tried to stabilize the craft close to the surface and told us to jump. I hit a tree – which turned out to be a very lucky coincidence, since the trunk shielded me from most of the blast when the rest of the engines exploded."

"I still picked an impressive amount of shrapnel from all over your left side," the MedCorps officer jumped in. "Most of it pinpricks, admittedly, but not all. That thing you caught in the shoulder blade was a piece of stabilizer, or so I am told. Good catch, by the way, if it had hit something less solid, it would have gone right through you. But, don't let me interrupt you."

The colonel raised an eyebrow at that but continued to report. "The cockpit ejection capsule was caught in the blast. It was about half the size it should have been when I found it. I was unable to locate any other survivors before the rebel group, that had fired the fatal blast, arrived to make sure of their kill. I evaded, they pursued, but I lost them at a ravine where they assumed I had fallen over the edge and left me for dead. I tried to follow the riverbed, knowing that it would lead me back to civilization eventually, but the terrain soon went impassable. So, I had to try my luck in the forest."

"And then?"

Veers shrugged, froze when his body remembered pain, and slowly relaxed when his shoulder turned out to be only mildly sore. "I walked through a lot of trees. When things got increasingly hazy, I walked _into_ a lot of trees. At some point I must have blackened out for good because I woke up here."

"That's it?" The uniformed doctor looked half incredulous, half expectant. "Colonel, you were found nearly two hundred klicks away from the crash site. If you'd marched fifty, in the two-and-a-half days since the crash before a patrol picked you up, I'd call that a minor miracle, but given the terrain and the state you were in, the whole distance is simply impossible."

_So, who gave you a lift that you won't mention, and what price did you pay for the help?_ was left unspoken.

The colonel shrugged again. "As I said. Things got hazy. Except for the trees I don't remember anything … substantial."

The MedCorps officer jumped at the minute hesitation. "What do you mean, nothing _substantial_?"

"I had a long conversation with a man dead since the Clone Wars, at some point."

The doctor fingered his penlight. "What else?"

Irritated at the implied disloyalty, Veers offered a sarcastic, "Pretty young girls promising all kinds of nice rewards if I just kept on walking and followed them," and the MedCorps officer caught the hint and left the further questioning to the professionals.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The colonel was – as the doctor had foretold – going over the story for the umpteenth time, at present with an ISB spook, as far as he could tell, when a strident voice cut through the flimsy walls.

"No, _you listen to me_, now! This man saved my life, twice in as many years, and quite possibly averted a rape, too, the first time around. Now I hear he is missing, presumed dead – no, he is critically injured – no, he is …. This is unacceptable! You will give me the information I asked for, and you will give it now, or I swear I will take this before the Senate!"

_Déjà vu._ And hadn't he thought that reaction_ so very_ lifelike? As the hallucination had proclaimed, people caved under the temper.

Not five minutes later, there was an almost timid knock, but when the agent snarled his, "What is it?", the door all but rebounded off the adjacent wall.

White flowing dress, a matching cape with the hood thrown back – contrary to the almost identical figure beside her, but Veers caught, with a horrible feeling of foreboding, a glimpse of a white braid. Two liveried guards brought up the rear – apparently Organa Sr. was slowly learning his lessons.

The colonel stared at the petite princess. "Princess Organa, what are you doing here?"

"Colonel Veers, I am _so_ pleased to see that the rumors about your condition are mostly untrue. You _are_ on the mend, I trust?" Old Core nobility at its thickest oozed from the tone, the poise, the way she completely disregarded the other man in the room.

From the corner of his eyes, Veers caught the spook mouthing, "Princess?!" and the calculating look of _'friends in high places?'_

_Good._ For all that the colonel disliked relying on _'connections'_ on principle, he would gladly make an exception to get that particular bloodsucker off his back. There weren't enough discrepancies in his story to warrant a court-martial, and they both knew it. But the agent had the pull to slate him for _'further debriefing'_ and make him vanish in the paperwork, until he was ready to confess to all and every accusation imaginable, and they both knew that, too.

Veers blinked himself back to the situation at hand. "Ah, … yes, certainly. If it's up to the doctor, I'll be back on light duty tomorrow."

Dark eyes narrowed. "_If_ it's up to the doctor? Who else would have a say in this?"

The spook stepped forward with a self-righteous smile. "Well, I do, for instance. I do not think you grasp the seriousness of the situation the colonel here finds himself in, my dear girl .…"

Veers nearly winced. The cape turned into an impressive swirl of fabric as the princess swung around like a turbolaser acquiring a new target. "And you would be, who exactly?"

At this unexpected resistance to his superior attitude, the man tried to reinforce his position. "Major Arabanth, of the Imperial Security Bureau," he gave back, smile fading away.

"I see." The generally feared agency failed to leave the princess intimidated in any way, which visibly took the spook aback. "Then I propose you apprise me of the situation, Major."

For a moment, the princess studied the man intently while he sorted his thoughts – to put the most tactically advantageous spin to the story, no doubt – before she added, with a sweet smile, "I would be most interested to hear what part a _major_ has in determining a _colonel's_ fate – especially one advanced by Lord Vader himself."

None too bad a Sabbacc player, the agent knew when to fold'em. "A mere formality, Your Highness. Surely you agree that proper procedure must be followed?"

Her Highness graciously assented and motioned at him to continue, but gave no sign of vacating the room anytime soon. Resignedly, the major asked a few more superfluous questions and then bowed himself out. The two guards shared a look and followed him past the door.

The ice queen melted back into a worried teenager. "Whew! I thought he would never leave. Are you _really_ alright?"

Veers shook his head incredulously, then marshaled a reassuring smile. "Yes, kid, I'm fine. Thanks, in no small part, to you and … your companion?"

The white-haired girl pushed back her hood and curtseyed gracefully. "I am Winter, ward of Prince Organa and handmaiden to Princess Leia," she introduced herself formally, pointedly ignoring a grumbled, "We grew up together, like sisters, really."

Then the serious expression morphed into an impish grin. "Not a frost-specter, actually, though I won't fault you for mistaking me for one."

_There went the last chance of blaming everything on wound fever and remarkable coincidences._

"I was hardly at my best, at that point," the colonel protested – he hadn't even been aware he had said that aloud!

"You were … mumbling." The teasing smile widened, then vanished. "I'm just glad I let Leia talk me into going along with one of her stunts," Winter said earnestly.

"Though," a dark glare glanced off the princess's studied nonchalance, " if she had told me more than that she was going stir-crazy, from smiling prettily while worrying about you, while we were still in the vicinity of the capital, I would have assembled a more substantial search team."

"Very reasonable. You should listen to her good sense more often, Princess." Veers commended.

While said princess sputtered in indignation, colonel and handmaiden shared a knowing look.

"Of course," Veers went on, addressing the white-haired girl again, "a young lady in your … let's say _responsible_ position shouldn't even know, let alone _use _that sort of vocabulary, not even in Bothese!"

It was Winter's turn to sputter indignantly, and suddenly there was easy laughter between the three of them.


	5. Appreciation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a prompt from Lcsaf – who, accordingly, earned naming rights for a character in a following chapter, by the rules of this story.

* * *

It was generally frowned upon, heavily and with good reasons, for a man to celebrate his release from the infirmary by going for a stiff drink.

Nevertheless, Colonel Veers felt the need for a fortifying one – it would have been bad style, after all, to knock his rescuers' heads together until common sense rattled back into place. Strictly speaking, he had already overstepped his bounds when he'd taken both the princess and her handmaiden to task, once he'd realized _exactly where_ the two girls had picked him up, despite the fact that he was neither a relative nor held any position of authority over the pair.

Such valid justifications notwithstanding, it wouldn't do to alienate the resident MedCorps officers – and the bar at the officers' mess in Cardua Prime was woefully understocked, in any case. Veers rarely indulged, but he firmly believed that life was too short to drink cheap wine, let alone stronger spirits.

Consequently, the colonel had used the fact that he wasn't duty-bound to be anywhere specific until the next morning and gone for the old Founder's Quarter of the Carduan capital. The local liquor was no Corellian whiskey but it came close – if one knew where to ask for it.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Veers was staring moodily into a half-full glass of amber liquid when someone slid onto the barstool beside him.

"I'll have the same as my friend here," a smooth baritone ordered.

The colonel was about to tell the newcomer, sharply, that he wasn't in the mood for company, let alone the sort picked up in a bar, when the peculiarities of the accent registered.

"Prince Organa." He nodded a greeting at the tall politician, then allowed his surprise at the encounter to show – the bar wasn't a dive, by any definition, but not exactly renowned for hosting royalty and planetary representatives. "What brings you here, Your Highness?"

"Colonel Veers." Dark eyes gave the colonel an almost concerned once-over. "It occurred to me that I never had the opportunity to thank you, in person, for how you handled the situation on Nihoa. Seeing how I almost didn't get the chance, I am glad my daughter was able to return the favor."

Veers nearly snorted. "I do not wish to sound ungrateful, sir, but what I did on Nihoa was hardly worth the risk she took for me."

Organa frowned. "I don't seem to follow …."

_Figures._ The colonel took a bracing sip. "I do hate to repeat myself, but what has your daughter told you about the incident earlier, Your Highness?"

To his credit, this time the Alderaani prince didn't try to hide behind the diplomatic mask. Instead he sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "Dare I ask what she did this time?"

"Scared off an ISB spook, for starters. But I'm more concerned about her and her friend going on a joyride through hostile territory."

Organa gulped down his own share of liquid courage, too fast to discern anything about the taste. "I would appreciate a few more details, Colonel."

_Well, where to start?_ Veers didn't consider himself a belligerent drunk – nor to be drunk at all, with barely half a glass of Amasec under his belt! – but it had been a long couple of days and so he went for the most serious grievance first.

"Your daughter is a hopeless romantic, sir," he told the other man gruffly.

The viceroy choked on his drink, and the colonel realized belatedly that this was probably **_not_** what the father of a sixteen-year-old girl wanted to hear from a non-related forty-something male. He hastily relegated the next sentence he'd been going to use to a later point – any mention of _innocence_ would probably not go over well, at the moment.

"I understand that a certain glorification of the Battle of Alderaan during the Great War is part of your planet's heritage – and with good reasons, too," he said instead. "The way the scattered ground forces pulled together and fought back against invaders superior both in numbers and capabilities is nothing short of impressive. The problem is, heroic tales tend to … ah, gloss over the amount of pragmatism inherent in guerilla warfare."

Organa looked increasingly confused and Veers went on, "Thanks to a strong identification with the heroes of Alderaani history, your daughter – and her handmaiden – have a highly romanticized idea of resistance fighters. They expect them all to be _'good guys'_, deep down .…"

The colonel shook his head at the memory. Winter had listened politely, if utterly unconvinced, while the princess had argued back, passionately. They weren't a military target; therefore, the rebels had no reasons to attack them, she had insisted. She was certainly old and smart enough to realize that unwanted witnesses, that might possibly give away the rebels' position, didn't have to be military to become a target – but she had steadfastly refused to believe so. The only inroads Veers had achieved had been the grudging admission that their logic, however faulty to begin with, would inevitably crumble if the girls had been caught with an Imperial officer in tow (no matter what state the latter was in) – another fact that obviously hadn't occurred to them .…

"Your daughter is perfectly capable of sound strategic planning, her preparations prove that," the colonel continued. "I didn't bother to ask how and who she browbeat to get the position of the crash – or how and where they nicked a military grade lifesign detector – but they did. Winter then came up with an impressively logical deduction how to localize the most promising search area. But none of the two apparently wasted a thought on the fact that they were heading – without backup _or even telling anyone about their plans!_ – into a forest_ **proven**_ to hold aggressive hostile elements. No thought, at all, on how that meant they made _themselves_ an easy target .…"

_Not that a pair of pretty young girls off on their lonesome isn't a target in and of itself…_, went without mention – but surely their father, and guardian, respectively, was more than aware of _that_.

Veers shook his head again. "With all due respect, sir, but it's nothing short of maddening if someone as demonstrably intelligent as your daughter insists on clinging to such a recalcitrant belief that people will _'play fair' _even in a combat situation!"

There was a long moment of silence.

"It is the privilege of youth to be idealistic, innocent, even," the senator countered then, sounding mildly reproving – if not entirely convinced himself.

The colonel openly scoffed. "I do not begrudge them their innocence, far from it! But there's innocence and there's expecting safe conduct through rebel territory, and the latter is something that needs to be nipped in the bud! I'd rather .…"

The glacial mask was back. Backtracking through his last sentence, Veers couldn't really fault the Alderaani; as a vocal part of the opposition in the Senate, he was always rumored to have connections to the Rebel Alliance ...

_Dammit!_ The colonel hadn't meant to imply anything of the kind – almost two decades of outspoken protests made it rather obvious, in Veers opinion, that Organa preferred arguments as his weapon of choice, not actual violence.

_Maybe there _is_ something to be said about not mixing painkillers and alcohol. _Except … painkillers had been conspicuous by their absence in today's treatment ...

The colonel held up a placating hand. "I'm not saying they have serious sympathies towards the Alliance or worse – the very fact that they went out of their way to ensure the survival of an Imperial officer counters that line of thinking fairly well. Though, I might be biased, in this respect .…"

The viceroy gave an undignified snort.

"Allow me to endorse your bias, then," he said, holding out his glass to clink it against the colonel's.

"I will certainly talk to Leia – and Winter, too – about thinking about the possible repercussions of their actions _before _they undertake them, citing your professional opinion to reinforce my arguments, if you don't mind," Organa went on, after they'd both savored a mouthful of Amasec.

"I wish I could say they will take them to heart .… Well, Winter will, most likely, but Leia …, Leia will always throw caution to the wind, if she thinks what she does is the right thing to do. She's far too much like her mother in that regard .…"

The senator trailed off, staring into the distance, and Veers recalled that the man was a widower, for many years.

He held out his glass to the other man. "To loves gone too soon," he proposed, voice a bit rough.

They drained the rest of their glasses, silence spreading between them as each man was lost in his own memories, but not an uncomfortable one.

Then the trained diplomat smoothly changed the topic. "You also mentioned an ISB involvement, earlier, I believe?"

The colonel nodded. "A Major Arabanth. Typical scavenger. Tried to play power games for the sake of power games, but backed off rather quickly when he was informed about the risk of tangling with _real_ power."

Namely – in the most literal sense – one Dark Lord of the Sith, by Veers' assessment. If the major was smart – and a certain level of intelligence was hopefully prerequisite for his profession – he would have known how possessively (not necessarily protectively, but very _possessively_) the Sithlord tended to react if anyone encroached on what (or who) his lordship considered _'his own_.'

But mentioning how nonchalantly the little princess had dropped Lord Vader's name, smoothly – _smilingly!_ – implying a connection no only between the Sith and the colonel, but also between the former and herself, would probably not reassure her father.

"Very condescending fellow, too, especially towards ... little girls," he said instead, perfectly truthfully. "I doubt the Major will risk another confrontation."

The senator considered him for a moment too long to hold onto the hope that his diversion had worked, but he didn't question Veers' statement.

"Oh, well, at least this time there wasn't a bucket of paint involved," Organa muttered instead.

The colonel raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Condescending moff, grand gala, pink paint," the senator listed in a flat voice. "I'm still trying to forget the rest of the incident."

It took decades worth of military self-control to smother the laugh that wanted to rise at the mental image.

"Ah," Veers commented eloquently.

"Quite," the Alderaani agreed and waved the barkeeper over to refill their glasses.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

As they progressed through the bottle, they swapped a few more anecdotes about the hair-raising art of bringing up children; more often than not _in absentia_, to both men's regrets, but there were always exhaustive messages and the odd, more or less frantic holocall. They made Veers increasingly aware – _and grateful, exceedingly grateful!_ – for how well-behaved a child his son had been so far. (Barring a short episode just after his mother's untimely death, but that was probably to be expected.)

He really needed to express his appreciation the next time he saw the boy – _almost a young man, these days, to be honest _– the colonel decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Veers isn't stupid; he's just doing something that is so basic human nature that you have to train aspiring scientists, policemen and other kinds of investigators long and hard to break them out of the habit (hopefully): he starts with a theory and interprets the facts to fit said theory, not the other way round. He already _'knows'_ the girls aren't with the rebels, because, Exhibit A: Veers himself is still breathing, despite the fact that he's an Imperial officer with relevant, specific knowledge of the local group's tactical preferences, some of their skills and weaponry and even some of their faces; aka the sort of liability you _really_ don't want to get away. So, _obviously,_ there must be other reasons for the girls' blithely unconcerned behavior and some sort of hero worship is none too uncommon in teenagers. Trust the princess of a strongly pacifistic world to go for the classics, though ... (4000 years, that's beyond Trojan War territory, around here ;).  
Organa Sr., who has decades worth of experience in political maneuverings, is doing his level best to strengthen that impression. And Winter probably has some experience, too, in fast-talking to explain away Leia's otherwise inexplicable talent to steer straight for whatever place or person she wants to find ….
> 
> A/N2: I've never played _The Old Republic_ nor read the affiliated comics, so maybe the secondary sources I have gave me the wrong impressions; in any case, though, the Battle of Alderaan was most likely _not_ won by some Republic Special Forces and a handful of Jedi, alone. Their role was probably more akin to that of British specialist forces parachuting into France, Yugoslavia, Whathaveyou in the early 1940s, to advise/provide equipment and/or intelligence for the local résistance, partisans, etc.. Read: pivotal for certain specific missions, but by no means decisive for the war as such, without the support of the natives. So, at least in my version of Alderaan, there is a rich heritage of epic sagas about the _Alderaani_ heroes of the Great War!


	6. Capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a prompt from _ladyofdarkstar_ – who, accordingly, earned herself naming rights.

* * *

Colonel Veers had spent enough time aboard stardestroyers to recognize the shift in pitch, of the background rumble of the engines, as a sign of the ship jumping into hyperspace, even while asleep. He rolled over and slept on. The ship hadn't been due for the next jump for another six hours, yet, but he was merely a passenger aboard this particular destroyer, and the vagaries of Navy captains were none of his concerns.

He was most definitely awake, though, when, less than half an hour later, the ship slid back into realspace and the reactors immediately roared into full power. _Battle mode._

As a passenger he had no battle station to report to – and the Captain would hardly welcome an influx of useless strangers on the Bridge – so he found his way to the observation deck, exchanging nods and clipped questions with the other, dozen or so, abruptly woken officers also along for the ride. None of them knew what exactly was going on.

Outside the viewscreen, a firefight flickered in the distance, red and green sparks swirling around each other, before the ghostly afterglow of a hyperdrive signaled another vessel's jump. Veers halfway expected the destroyer to stand down, now that whatever opponent they'd been engaging had fled, when the engines shifted pitch, again.

This time, the streaming false-star lines of hyperspace surrounded them only for a minute or two. Not quite a micro-jump, but close. Upon reversal, the colonel caught a fleeting glimpse of a Corellian corvette – or a similarly sized vessel – diving into a maelstrom of savage beauty.

Before the backdrop of the Rigali Nebula, a new star system was in the process of being born. Tidal forces exerted by nearby suns had compacted a portion of the nebula to the point of collapse and centrifugal forces had shaped it into a disk. At its center, a protostar had only just (astronomically speaking) ignited into a sun, while around the infant star planetesimals and protoplanets still tumbled through a thick soup of smaller objects and residual interstellar dust and gas.

A magnificent sight from a purely aesthetic point of view; from a navigator's perspective it was a nightmare. A squadron of TIE fighters, obviously launched the moment the destroyer had returned to realspace, flitted after the fleeing vessel but Veers couldn't really fault them for not following it into the seething mass.

The lone commander, previously mostly ignored by the Army officers, found himself mobbed with questions regarding the prospects of navigating a ship – capital or otherwise – into the opaque swirls and how to locate their quarry within, until a young ensign nervously cleared his throat behind the tight knot of officers.

"Ah, sirs? Colonels Ilfur and Veers, Commander Sobaka, Major Lonrae? Captain's compliments, sirs. If you'd follow me to the primary TAC room?"

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One hour later, while he strapped himself in at the back of the cockpit of an assault shuttle, Colonel Veers reflected that the last time he'd gone on a mission on such lousy intel, his commanding officer had been trying to get him killed. Seeing how he'd volunteered this time, he had no one to blame but himself, though. At least, the mission objectives were reasonably clear: search and rescue. The devil lay, as always, in the details:

_The fleeing corvette had been a pirate ship that had just captured a diplomatic vessel and taken the dignitaries aboard for ransom, more precisely the senators-elect of five different starsystems along the Commenor Run. Crippled but not entirely out of commission after the first ion salvo, thanks to vastly off-spec shields, the politicians' yacht had managed a distress call before getting boarded. ISD _Implacable_, the nearest capital ship of the fleet, had moved to assist, but by the time of her arrival the senators had already been apprehended. Faced with a stronger opponent for a change the pirates had fled, scuttling the yacht as a delaying tactic – the nearest TIEs had reported going straight through an expanding cloud of spaced bodies, still soft, unfrozen bodies, one of the pilots had even sworn that the one he'd nearly hit had still been twitching. As ruthless as the tactic had been, it had not been successful, though: the _Implacable_ had followed promptly. _

_She could not follow them into the protoplanetary disk, however. For one, the infant system was packed with solid objects – the entire mass of its future planets and assorted satellites, in junks smaller than your average moon, all confined within the space of an orbit just outside the habitable zone – leaving the 150 meters corvette at the absolute upper edge of vessels that might still find a route through the planetesimal thicket. And secondly, the intermediate space was filled with dust so thick it left the sensors all but blind. Once the pirate ship had cut its engines, it had literally turned invisible – only its last known vector gave a probable range of positions, if a depressingly large one._

_ISD _Tenacious_, an Interdictor-class Star Destroyer, had also reacted to the distress call (though from a greater distance, arriving too late to keep the assailants from fleeing the site of the original attack), and was now keeping any ship from escaping into hyperspace. Thusly trapped within the disk, the pirates had briefly tried to parley. Negotiations were, of course, not an option, though – the Empire did not negotiate with criminals, period. _

_And yet, … "five entire starsystems, including Brentaal and Tepasi," were baying for blood, and while they might have preferred to exact their revenge on the pirates, if the Captain of the _Implacable_ failed to provide those – and, if at all possible, the senators, safe and hale – he (and possibly every other officer involved) would do, too, in a pinch. Under the circumstances, the Navy captain had swallowed his pride and asked for ideas, even from the Army officers he was transporting. Or maybe that was an uncharitable view of Captain Skoor's motives; perhaps it simply went against the man's professional (and/or personal) ethos to let pirates get away with taking hostages. _

_After a somewhat bumpy start – the major's blunt proposal to put more energy into the sensors had met a terse, "Oh, certainly, I can light up the whole disk like Empire Day, frying every TIE caught in the beams, incidentally. But unless you happen to possess an astonishing gift of clairvoyance, Major, there's no way to decide which of the countless echoes is the pirate ship!" – the impromptu war council had pulled itself together and a plan had been developed. Without further knowledge on the pirates' numbers, exact position and armaments, however, Veers would have been the first to admit it was a desperate gamble, even though he had had a large part in creating the same. _

With the shuttle firing up her engines, the colonel shook himself back to the present. ISD _Implacable_ and her remaining TIEs on one side – all of the latter arrayed surrounding the mother ship, for now – and ISD _Tenacious_ on the other side of the protoplanetary disk kept the pirates pinned. Even as he watched, _Implacable_ and _Tenacious_ simultaneous rerouted every scrap of available energy into their active sensors. The effect was … rather kaleidoscopic[1].

Even watched from above, the roiling swirls of colors were disorienting. Hopefully, it would be more than amble distraction for the pirates hidden within, too, and let the trio of assault shuttles dive undetectedly into the disk, the moment the _Implacable _stopped her radiation barrage.

It took the shuttles about twenty minutes to reach the suspected range of positions of the pirates, just in time for the third salvo to build up its multihued effect. Much closer now, and consequently with much fewer distracting objects in-between, they were able to narrow the likely echoes down to four. The number abruptly dropped to one when the pirates, unnerved by the repeated lightshow, shifted position against the general flow.

Ten minutes later, trailing luminous swathes of ionized gases, the three shuttles pounced.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

If one swapped the risk of getting squashed by collapsing masonry for that of explosive decompression, boarding actions were pretty much urban combat, Colonel Veers decided, except without any support of armored cavalry. As a walker man himself, Veers found the lack of superior firepower most deplorable – and especially that of the corresponding allotment of proper armor.

He flattened himself against yet another grimy structural support, trying to keep track of the other two parts of the three-pronged attack via his comlink, while not getting shot at the same time. The pirates were more or less talented shots, but for the most part their – overall rather illegal – weaponry packed some serious punch. Already a number of troopers had been left on the deck, still or writhing, with blackened holes seared through their armor.

The colonel was listening with one ear to the cheerful profanities Major Lonrae was using to encourage his men – _competent man, all told, if a bit _too_ fond of dealing out bloody violence_ – when a team of troopers to his left breached another door.

"Don't shoot!" a high-pitched voice pleaded.

Veers froze, then threw himself across a still contested corridor before a bemused sounding trooper had even finished his, "Sir, you'd better take a look at this."

The colonel rolled to his feet in a doorway opening into some sort of storage locker, a tiny compartment never intended for human occupation judging by the stuffy, stale air inside. Within, a pair of young women eyed the armed and armored intruders with … not exactly trepidation, though Veers didn't quite know what to call it instead.

The colonel blinked, swallowed heavily and then pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache he felt encroaching, in total disregard of the adrenaline still swamping his body.

"Princess," he said slowly, "we really _must_ stop meeting in circumstances like these!"

A half-choked chuckle was his reward. Winter relaxed, noticeably.

Veers did the same behind his practiced, battle-calm façade when something slim and pointy – _hair ornament, possibly?_ – was no longer held like a weapon. There was something fundamentally wrong with the fact that the white armors hadn't registered as rescuers until the girl had recognized him _– Veers –_ by voice and face, but he would worry about that later. At least, both the little firebrand and her handmaiden held themselves with their usual unconscious grace and poise, with no indication of physical maltreatment, except for an odd shadow just underneath the dark-haired girl's jawline that might have been the beginnings of a bruise. He made a mental note to make sure the injury – and the perpetrator – would be taken care of, as soon as he found the time to attend to not immediately vital details.

Alas, they were on a tight schedule here, so he went straight back to business. "Princess, do you know where your father is?"

"Safely back in Aldera Palace, I should hope," Princess Organa gave back briskly.

"Colonel, allow me to present the new Senator-elect of Alderaan, Her Excellency, the Princess Leia Organa," Winter chimed in.

"I … see." _No, he didn't!_ The girl was what,_ seventeen?!_ A competent and assertive seventeen-year-old, sure, but … _but that was politics for you, obviously. And she can hardly be _**_more_**_ useless than some of the older, more experienced ones. Quite the opposite, in fact …._ "Ah, congratulations, then.

But to come back to my previous question: do you know where the rest of the hostages are held?"

Both girls shook their heads.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, we were separated from the others early on," Winter said apologetically.

"They thought we would make for the … most visually impressive bargaining chip," the princess went on, sounding more outraged at the thought of being treated as something ornamental than anything else.

She looked ready to expand on the topic for a while, but thankfully Winter jumped in with, "That's why they put us in here. They didn't want us directly on the bridge, to avoid, ah, distractions," her eyes flickered ever so slightly towards her dark-haired friend and Veers nearly grimaced, "but within easy reach. The bridge is almost straight above us, just up the turbolift over there."

_Ah, that would explain why someone detonated charges in that area, couple of minutes ago._ The colonel nonetheless nodded his thanks at the handmaiden with a grim smile.

To mollify the princess, he added, "They were quite successful, one might say. Reports of your presence contributed to at least half of the volunteers for this mission."

Winter looked smug, Princess – _or would that be Senator?_ – Organa a little taken aback.

"Are you serious?" she asked skeptically.

There was a very heartfelt, "Yes, ma'am!" from Cpt. Meno, the stormtrooper captain accompanying Veers' troop, simultaneously with the colonel's – and half of the troopers' – own emphatic nod.

"Dead serious, girl," Veers assured her, thinking back barely two hours.

_It had been one of the first things Captain Skoor, of the _Implacable_, had said, when pressed for details about the situation aboard the pirate ship. _

_"They have a young lady with them, that pirate leader was very quick to show off," he had reported, face hard and angry. "Someone's aide, daughter, mistress, I don't know – I don't care! – little slip of a girl, tried to keep a brave face even with that creature's dirty paw around her throat .…"_

_All around the table jaws had tightened, the uneasy mix of Army and Navy strangers united in outrage. They were all adults here, and pretty young girls plus pirates were a mix that didn't end well, outside of fairytales. _

_Major Lonrae had summed up pretty much everyone's feelings when he had asked, "What can we do to help?"_

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

As much as he would have liked to send the two girls back to safety, the colonel simply didn't have the men to split his troops, right now. He added his fiercest glare for emphasis, though, when he ordered Cpt. Meno to keep the two at the back of the group_ and not let them out of his sight!_

It didn't help his mood that Veers couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Within the labyrinthine interior of the corvette, modified to suit the needs and whims of a dozen consecutive owners, where every other corner screamed _Ambush!_ by sheer geometry alone, it was not a pleasant feeling! Among other things, it made him double-check on the girls as often as he could.

Apparently, princessly lessons of deportment also paid off as remarkable calm under fire. Winter was steadily scanning her surroundings, in a fairly professional manner even – maybe not entirely surprising, handmaidens occasionally doubled as a last line of defense, the colonel had heard – but was otherwise slowly relaxing, seemingly content to accept outside protection. Consequently, though, Winter was the first to show moments of a too-careful stillness, meant to suppress bouts of vertigo and/or erratic muscle tremors, and a faint furrowing of brows, betraying a pounding headache no longer masked by adrenaline; in short, the usual aftereffects of a heavy stun.

The princess, on the other hand, was all but quivering with the need to **_do_** something, barely kept in check by common sense and the occasional restraining hand in white armor. Veers sighed, internally. He knew the type, they made terrific squad leaders but terrible generals, due to their inborn predilection to always jump into the thick of things themselves. He could only guess what sort of disaster that trait might lead to in planetary royalties – or _senators_ ….

Shaking off the disbelief once again, he realized belatedly that the dark-haired girl was keeping him under close scrutiny, eyes darting aside whenever he gave an order to gauge the reactions of the surrounding soldiers; or, sporadically, towards the stormtrooper captain to watch his actions for comparison. When she noticed the colonel's realization, however, the princess drew herself up, abruptly.

"I was trained to lead people all my life," she said, suddenly defensive in a way Veers was sure none of the pirates had ever seen her, "but I've never seen someone take command in a real battle."

The colonel shook his head. "I hope you understand why I'll say: I wish you'd never had the chance, Princess."

The girl pressed her lips together, but then nodded sharply. "I know. But the Fates don't always give us what we wish for."

He barely caught her finishing the old adage in an undertone, "… just what we need."

_Made one wonder what the inside of the senate building was like, during sessions …._

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For all their remarkable fortitude in the face of a live firefight, it was the ugly side effects of battle that the girls were less well prepared to deal with, unfortunately. The boarding troops had just managed to subdue the rest of the pirates, and in the momentary lull after securing the bridge, the princess had – perhaps understandably – asked about the fate of her previous shipmates, beyond those taken hostage with her and the rest of the recognizable dignitaries.

Too bad, that in the heat of battle it had slipped Veers' mind to leave the stormtrooper captain with strict instructions, about what sort of information were to be shared with young females under stressful conditions.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

"Is. It. True?!"

The words were not very loud but the tone so cutting, so thoroughly laced with fury, that grown men started all over the bridge. The handful of surviving pirates kneeling along one wall cringed. Veers thought of steelworks and a towering Sithlord, the only other yardsticks for that kind of wrath he knew.

He turned, reflexively waving at a handful of troopers to stand down – startling armed men still hyped up with adrenaline was a bad idea, generally – and found dark eyes burning into him. For one tempestuous moment, the colonel fought for balance, as if the vehement glare transmitted an actual physical force. Black armorweave suddenly felt like an increasingly likely fashion choice.

"Is _what_ true, Princess?"

"Did _they_," a sharp gesture indicated the remaining pirates, "truly space everyone else left on the _Storm's End? _Captain Taaln, the entire staff and crew, they are all dead?"

Silently cursing Cpt. Meno and his lack of discretion, Veers nodded bleakly, at a loss for words how to comfort the upset girl. Behind the irate princess, Winter had come up, too, eyes cold and harsh as her namesake. _No help from that quarter, this time, then._

"Navia was a friend, a good friend," the white-haired girl said quietly, damnation dripping from each syllable.

Silence dragged for a moment, before somewhere beside the tense trio a throat was cleared. "Maybe Milady would like to do the honors, then?"

The flaming stare leveled in his direction didn't seem to faze Major Lonrae; on the contrary, there was an unsettling gleam of recognition – appreciation, even – in his eyes when he held out his hand, presenting his service blaster in a reversed grip.

Utterly taken aback – it would have never occurred to him to offer vengeful bloodshed to console a distressed young girl – Veers wasted a moment to glare at the man, nearly missing a shift of grimy white silk when the princess started to reach for the proffered weapon.

He almost caught her by the arm, regardless, by virtue of his greater reach, but his fingertips had not yet brushed against her fraying sleeves when the burning eyes blinked, there was a sharp intake of breath and the passionately enraged face folded back on itself, turning into an unreadable, superficially serene mask.

"Thank you for the offer, Major," the princess said with an icy calm, "but I must decline. Alderaan believes in justice, not revenge."

_Maybe the man had been onto something, then, by accident or intent – snapping the girl out of her (self-)destructive mood by offering to follow it to its logical consequence,_ though that was a thought the colonel wasted no time to pursue further.

"Major!" he barked sharply, and well-ingrained reflex made the younger man snap to attention. "You clear up the rest of this mess."

Without awaiting an acknowledgement, Veers activated his comlink.

"Captain Korban," he addressed the man whose attack group had come across the majority of the kidnapped senators and stayed to secure their position, instead of pressing forward towards the bridge, "escort the senators back to your shuttle. I'll rendezvous with you there with the ones we found."

He left half of his men with the major before taking hold of the princess's shoulder. She made a move to shrug off his restraining hand, but the colonel ruthlessly put superior weight and strength to good use and refused to budge.

"This way, Princess," Veers told her in his best commanding voice, steering the girl firmly towards the exit of the Bridge, getting a secure grip on Winter's arm, too, as an afterthought.

There was a moment of remarkably strong resistance before the princess nodded jerkily, twisting her arm until she could hook her forearm across his and pushed down, a clear if wordless indication that she would prefer a more conventionally appropriate hold.

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They were seven decks away from the Bridge before the future senator made another sound.

"I almost lost myself," she said softly, voice bleak and emotionless, as far from her usual fiery passion as could be and still stay human.

Colonel Veers, who knew an imminent crash-down when he saw it, started to wonder if he trusted Cpt. Meno well enough to carry Winter (for, as much as the two had held each other up so far, once the first started crashing, she would inevitably drag the other down with her).

At the same time, he replied, automatically, "I wouldn't have let you, girl," in a voice no louder than her own.

He could have shouted at the top of his lungs, probably, for all that she took notice of the words.

"There was a manka cat, at the palace when I was a child," the princess went on, apparently non sequitur. "It was tame and well-fed and could be really cuddly, at times. But still, it … killing was nothing but a sport to it. He has a mind like that, too, hasn't he?"

It was a statement, not a question, and phrased as the latter only as an afterthought. And the colonel had no idea how to reply to that since, a) he didn't know the man in question well enough to judge if he was the type that was indeed pure predator, and as such worse than any manka because he was also a sentient, not some dumb, instinct-driven beast; and b) in either case, Veers himself had chosen the same profession, which was among the very, very few that sanctioned bloodshed, and while he certainly didn't _enjoy_ killing, it also didn't bother him, much .…

Again, it was an outside voice that broke the tense silence.

"Miladies, sir, please don't think of Major Lonrae too badly," Cpt. Meno said, almost faltered beneath a threefold stare but bravely soldiered on. "He probably didn't even realize he was proposing anything improper. He's a Nubian, you see, and they had warrior queens there, before the Empire, who led armies into battle at what would be considered severe underage on a Core World."

Not even deference to the esteemed Emperor's homeworld could entirely hide the horrified disdain, for such barbarian Rimworlder practices, in the voice of a man born and bred on a civilized Core world for untold generations – and for once, the colonel could agree.

Winter made a sound, half choked, half startled. "Amidala, …" she whispered.

"Uh, yes, that was the last of them, I believe," the captain answered, and that was all Veers heard of the history lesson, because the princess made another step and sagged, not quite in a faint but the stress of the last couple of hours catching up, with interest.

With the colonel's arm already hooked around hers, there was no way for her to actually fall, but for a moment her legs supported almost none of her weight.

The next, they didn't even touch the ground anymore. Because, _Enough was enough and propriety could go hang!_

A muffled squeak behind them told Veers that Meno had followed his example and picked the other girl straight off the floor.

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The colonel didn't let go of the petite princess – who, after an initial weak flail, was wise (or subdued, but he _really_ didn't want to consider _that!_) enough not to offer further resistance – until she was safely strapped into the back of the cockpit of one of the assault shuttles. Not even when the entire horde of frightened, bewildered dignitaries demanded answers to their questions.

Veers ignored them. The only explanation he gave was when some stately matron, lavender hair piled in impossible perfection atop her head despite the recent tribulations, caught sight of the approaching troop and immediately claimed a hold over the girls, face outwardly calm but with a terrified question in her eyes. The colonel shook his head at her, minutely.

"No physical harm," he told the elder lady gruffly, before he gently pried his sleeve from a white-knuckled grip.

"Princess," he said softly, "there are still things that need to be done. I have to .…"

A jerky nod and the girl pulled herself together, a fair copy of her father's diplomatic mask falling over her features. "Yes, of course, Colonel."

He was almost back on the scorched deck plates of the pirate ship when he caught a very faint _Thank you!_

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Mop up was messy, like it always was. Veers didn't see the two young Alderaanis again until almost twenty hours later. Then, the princess was distant, polite – and very sharply vocal in that she would **_not_** accept any other liaison for the rest of her stay aboard the _Implacable_. Encouraged by her example, several of the other politicians did the same. The colonel would have rather stormed the pirate ship all over again, unarmed and on his lonesome if he had to!

Veers couldn't bring himself to hate the princess for putting him through that particular ordeal, though.

* * *

[1] Abruptly bombarded by powerful streams of high-energy particles and electromagnetic fields, electrons were ripped off the floating gases in the disk, creating localized pockets of plasma. The freed electrons, expanding through the intervening vacuum of space, collided with further gas and metal atoms, exiting some electrons in the atomic orbitals of these atoms to a higher energy state; when the excited atoms fell back to a lower energy state, they emitted photons, resulting in visible light or ultraviolet radiation (the latter sometimes causing further fluorescence). In short, a split-second after the sensors had gone active, the previously mostly palely opaque gaseous matter turned into countless ephemeral plasma lamps and emitted a riot of blues and greens and purples, depending on its main atomic constituents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the galaxy that gave us the asteroid thicket. I claim the same variable sense of scale for all physical phenomena described herein – the underlying principles are all real, though.
> 
> A/N2: Leia sneaks herself a crash course in _Command your men competently, under battle field conditions_, here. If you want to get the matching theory lessons, by the selfsame outstanding teacher, try Ch. 9 of _Careful What You Wish For: Embracing Destiny_, by _ladyofdarkstar_. Actually, try the rest of her stories, too. She writes great stuff and weird stuff and things that somehow manage to be both at once!
> 
> A/N3: Girls mature earlier than boys, but at fourteen neither sex is fully grown, neither physically nor mentally. Let alone at ten, twelve, or whatever age they start training for the job of queen, bodyguard or whathaveyou. They are capable of functioning as adults if they have to, but there will be marks on their bodies and/or their minds later on if they do. So, right to vote at thirteen – no problem; head of state, with all that entails, at that age – uh, … yeah. (Doesn't mean that Palpatine hasn't milked the situation for decades, too, as a grand example of why things HAD to be changed, _'cause, will you look at this, child soldiers abound!_)
> 
> On a related note, seventeen-year-olds going through their first battle are allowed a little meltdown afterwards. She'll keep her cool better, the next time she gets captured ….


	7. Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special mention goes to _Lcsaf_, who made me realize that a pair of parents commiserating most likely equals an exchange of anecdotes the respective children would have rather _kept buried_ deep, deep in past; and also to _ladyofdarkstar_, for putting the glitter into the pink paint.

* * *

Coursework was going well.

One introductory lecture for the first years, to inspire the appropriate awe, and one advanced tactics course for the third and fourth years, to teach them how to properly make use of the possibilities. And now, if he could just get that promising young man to realize that, yes, a high center of gravity made the walkers susceptible to overbalancing under specific circumstances, but that making them kneel under combat conditions – while lowering the center of gravity and the resultant risks – reduced a highly mobile attack vessel cum armored transport to a gun platform with a rather narrow arc of fire, then he could count his stint as a guest lecturer at the Academy at Carida as a full success.

Designing and dismissing scenarios for his next lecture in his mind over lunch, Colonel Veers barely looked up when another officer threw a flimsy on the table he shared with several other colleagues.

"SMOC alarm," the newcomer announced. "The Senate, in its infinite wisdom, has assembled the next bunch of rank amateurs to keep a sharp eye on us, to make sure we don't squander all those hard-earned tax credits for any nefarious purposes. As per tradition, our esteemed Dean has invited them to start their term with an inaugural visit to the Academy – they'll arrive week after next. Soru, you are one of the official liaisons. Veers, you, too."

The colonel grunted noncommittally. Attracting the Dark Lord's notice had drawn other eyes his way, too, and his own actions had not exactly dispelled the attention. Every now and then, the political ramifications raised their ugly heads, and in those cases, Veers just gritted his teeth and bore it.

Across the table, Ezarin Soru, descendant of an old illustrious line of generals and governors, shrugged philosophically. "Oh, well, at least there will be something easy on the eyes."

That raised some eyebrows. "You figure? How come?" somebody asked.

"'Cause Nocsa Basz got made head of the committee this year and he's a … great connoisseur of female beauty, if you catch my drift. He always makes sure there's something nice to look at, in all those endless hours of committee meetings .…"

Most of the group laughed, some appreciatively, some more enviously.

One rolled his eyes. "You've got weird tastes, Ez. I mean, if you are going for the distinguished look, Old Man Organa can pull that off; and Telen is so undecided on everything that '_he'_ might actually be a _'she' _under that shapeless robe and never owned up on it, but … eeewww. I didn't know you were that desperate .…"

"What?! What are you talking about?"

"Senators Basz, Telen and Organa are the ranking members of the committee. Says so on the official visitors list."

Veers felt a stab of dismay and wasn't quite sure on whose behalf. He speared an unsuspecting vegetable with more than necessary force when he turned back to his lunch.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

As could be expected, the Dean had gone all out to give the visiting representatives of the Senate Military Oversight Committee a fitting welcome, lining up every single student or teacher and more than half of the Academy's hardware for the welcoming parade.

Protocol had pitched a minor fit about where to place a guest lecturer that was also a liaison for the illustrious guests; Veers hadn't cared either way. Body falling automatically into parade rest once they'd divined the proper station for him to wait in, the colonel spent the remaining minutes running a critical eye over the arrayed students, formed up in four lines at both sides of the runway. Fresh-faced, eager first years in the front row, excited and fidgety at their first big parade, their nervous energy necessitating some last-minute dressing the lines by a snarling non-com. The fourth years in the last row regarded the occasion with a far more jaded attitude, but, on the other hand, wore their uniforms with a far more natural grace, used to the stiff collars with the ease of long practice.

At long last, the triangular shape of the awaited shuttle broke through the cloud cover, flanked by its honor guard of (Academy-owned and instructor-piloted) TIEs which followed it in picture-perfect formation until almost to the ground before peeling away sharply, passing overhead with the signature shriek of their kind.

Wings folding up elegantly, the shuttle set down and powered down its engines. Various drill instructors used the resultant lull in ambient noise to shout for, "At-TEN-SHUN!"

With a collective thud of boot-heels, the assembly came to order, just in time for the ramp of the shuttle to come down with a hiss of escaping steam. Once the noxious clouds had dissipated, the long-awaited arrivals finally came into view.

A thickset man in his fifties, clad in a wine-red robe designed to flatter his figure to the best of his tailor's abilities, with shrewd eyes taking in everything at once, came first. He was followed by a slim but stately figure in white that reduced the scrawny man in pallid green, trying to vie for second place, to a mere scarecrow by comparison.

The Dean surged forward to greet his guests at the bottom of the ramp, guiding them along the four-to-five steps necessary to reach the assembled officers of the welcoming committee, and started introductions.

Red, or rather, Senator Basz, raised a well-coiffured eyebrow at Veers. "A guest lecturer, you say? What is your specialty, Colonel, if I may ask?"

"Walker warfare. Isn't it, Colonel?" a strong soprano supplied, before Veers could as much as open his mouth.

"Stars preserve us, a teacher's pet!" a voice mumbled behind the colonel. Veers nearly turned to glare – if not for the inconceivably young age of the senator (and her gender, possibly), such a high level of preparedness would have been cause for some grudging respect, not belittlement.

"Correct, Madam Senator," he said aloud.

The rest of the introduction went off smoothly, the parade was inspected with polite interest, and then refreshments were served in one of the smaller but more elegant conference rooms.

Then the '_overseeing'_ session began in earnest.

The questions ranged from dry, but at least sensible number-crunching to the inane.

"Tell me, Colonel, why do the legs of walkers have to be so very long?" was one of the latter category.

Veers didn't miss a beat, regardless. "There are both engineering and psychological reasons for that, sir."

Pallid, that is, Senator Telen, scrunched up pale sandy brows. "Psychological?"

"Yes, sir. Psychology is of vital importance in any kind of warfare," the colonel explained patiently. "True victory does not entail complete destruction of the enemy forces; true victory is to make the enemy surrender before the first shot is fired."

Senator Telen perked up. "I see you are a proponent of Tarkin's Doctrine, then."

"I was quoting a general who lived a few thousand years ago," Veers gave back acerbically – _really, what place did that man have in a **Military **Oversight Committee when he didn't even know the very basics?!_ – then nearly lost his train of thought when he caught the tail-end of a look of horrified betrayal in the young princess's eyes, before it melted into one of intense relief.

Forcing himself to ignore the distraction, the colonel went on, "His treatise on military strategy is still required reading at this very Academy. Moff Tarkin proposes to apply the same principles in galactic governance – it's not my place to say if that is a viable approach."

Senator Basz smiled condescendingly – none too easy a feat, given how far he had to crane back his neck to look Veers in the eye. "A simple soldier that keeps to soldiering and leaves politics to the politicians, eh? Very wise, Colonel, very wise."

"If you say so, sir," Veers replied, very carefully not through clenched teeth. On one hand, yes, that pretty much _was_ his approach; and yet, the way the old lecher said it, it made the colonel sound like a simpleton.

Mercifully, Senator Organa took another stab at the budget numbers and the session went on.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The evening was spent with a grand gala dinner, with upperclassmen in full dress uniform behind every chair and the Dean's and several other teachers' wives for company. For the first four courses or so, the way the princess was verbally tying two particularly simpering wives, plus the handful of idiots trying to impress her at the same level of intelligence, into knots provided excellent entertainment. When two of the latter ones wouldn't take the hint, however, and the dark eyes slowly gathered fire, Veers applied some simple lever mechanics to upend a carafe of wine on his opposite side and leaned towards the young senator during the distraction.

"We aren't heading towards a repeat of the Springtide festival in the year 11, are we, young lady?"

Her Excellency, the Senator of Alderaan, choked on her wine.

When the coughs had receded, there was a mumbled threat of patricide that Veers generously chose to ignore, but the rest of the dinner passed without incident.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Acquiescence came at a price, though, the colonel learned the next morning, when it was announced that the senators insisted on some field demonstrations. While Sen. Basz hung back with a mix of indulgence and condescension on his features, Veers listened incredulously how easily the princess got Sen. Telen to announce, with great authority, that practical demonstrations were the fastest way to educate the uninitiated – without, apparently, grasping the irony of such a statement from his mouth. The pallid man also insisted, with all the vehemence he could muster, especially on being shown some walkers in action.

Seized by the sudden, unshakable feeling that he'd just been handed a bucket of pink, glittery paint, the colonel caught the princess's eyes across the table – and saw her wink.

Veers closed his eyes, resisted the urge to knead his forehead and decided to face his doom with dignity. He stood.

"Gentlemen, Ma'am, if you'll excuse me, I'll organize a tour through the training fields."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Not that the colonel had had much choice in the matter, apparently – Cadet Felth was already awaiting him outside the conference room, eager to get Veers' approval for the scenario he had devised on Sen. Organa's directions.

_Wouldn't do, to groan aloud in front of subordinates – and impressionable young cadets at that._ Skimming through the proposal – the young man had a decent grasp of making use of terrain features, if nothing else, but the whole setup was_ somewhat_ _more daring_ than anything the colonel would have considered prudent, from a political point of view – Veers wondered briefly if the princess knew what she was doing. Felth insisted that this was exactly what Sen. Organa had had in mind, the last evening; but if the whole thing backfired, the colonel might (just barely) weather the storm mostly unscathed, thanks to his solid overall reputation (and with his humble pedigree, the chances of making general were low in any case). The cadet, on the other hand, would cease to have a career before it really started. Some dreary garrison in a distant armpit of the galaxy was going to be the best the boy could hope for.

Veers was on the verge of rejecting the scenario, when the prospect of meeting whatever the girl might come up with alternatively without forewarning made him reconsider. So, against better judgment, he grudgingly gave his approval – though not without some strong words of warning!

Felth seemed rather enthusiastic to take the risk, nonetheless – _Should have known it was a bad mistake to let the princess strike up polite conversations with some of the senior cadets serving at the table, after dinner_. The colonel would have pitied the boy for getting wrapped around the imperious girl's little finger so thoroughly – if he couldn't relate so very well.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

They had seen firsties brave an elaborate obstacle course. They had tried to spot – with variable success, apart from a certain princess – the advanced sniper course advance under cover on their holographic targets. They had heard more than seen, thanks to the up-churned murky spray, various transports splash through a muddy river, and had generally toured the wide-flung Academy grounds on a GPT Transport, following a circuitous route to draw attention to various points of interest.

The sun was approaching zenith when the entire assemblage was led to an observer platform in the middle of a wide green field.

Feeling a bit like a stage magician distracting the audience in preparation for his next sleight-of-hand, Veers launched into a somewhat dry description of the various training possibilities the many diverse types of terrain surrounding the Academy offered.

Sen. Organa, in a credible imitation of said magician's lovely assistant, provided further distraction by asking questions. Intelligent, number-intensive questions, the sort that could very well have budgetary importance and were therefore not at all unexpected for a member of the SMOC.

With all that verbal smoke-screening going on, the colonel was probably the only one to realize that the slight asymmetry, in the little princess's otherwise immaculate posture, was due to the fact that she had slipped one foot out of the dainty shoes she wore. Thinly stockinged foot resting on solid metal supported by deeply sunk fundaments, Sen. Organa was wearing the beginnings of a grin a full minute before anyone else became aware of a deep rumble, skirting the edge between sound and vibration.

Not even sixty seconds later, both sound and vibration had become impossible to ignore. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Sen. Telen was the first to throw a look over his shoulder and catch sight of the approaching threat. A line of twenty AT-ATs was thundering up the gentle slope of the broad trough-shaped valley that had previously hidden them from sight, with the command sections just cresting the edge of the apparent horizon and rising ever higher, a durasteel tidal wave about to break.

The senator squeaked. Veers politely pretended not to hear – none too difficult, given the ever-increasing noise level. The ground shook.

The colonel was an engineer, not an expert in animal gaits, but he had heard the walkers' distinctive mode of locomotion described as _'ambling'_. In any case, three steps in two seconds was slow by most creatures' standards – ten meters a step, on the other hand, was enough to outrun most sentients. Two-thirds of the senatorial deputation seemed inclined to try their luck, anyway.

The princess, however, merely looked inquisitive. "If they were really after me, what should I do?"

"Try not to get stepped on," Veers told her drily.

An irritated huff. "Fine, let me rephrase that, Colonel: if they were after _you_, what would _you_ do?"

"Try not to get stepped on," Veers repeated. "Princess, there is no weapon you – or I – could carry that would make a dent in their armor. On the other hand, an AT-AT is primarily an anti-materiel weapon, not anti-personnel. If a walker starts targeting a single person, he's either run out of other targets and/or its commander has no sense of priority, nor any idea how his targeting system works. If anything, it's the troop contingent aboard that you should be worried about."

"Organa," Sen. Basz was keeping hold of his condescending placidness with white-knuckled fists dug into his fine robes. "After deliberate consideration, I've come to the conclusion that your conjecture about the matter was quite correct."

Behind the burgundy-clad senator, his pale green colleague – in complexion, not merely robed in that color – nodded frantically. The platform shook and Basz hastily grabbed for a railing.

"You've made your point, girl, dammit!" he shouted over the din. "Now get you pet dog to call them off!"

The princess folded her face into a meek-as-milk little-girl smile. She even somehow managed to shout sweetly, "I'm sorry, Senator Basz, I didn't quite get that last one. What did you say?"

Telen lost his nerve for further word battles. "Colonel," he shrieked, "**do** something!"

"Certainly, sir. If you'll come over here, sir." Tone perfectly civil, if with a raised voice, Veers guided the greenish senator towards the railing facing the approaching cavalcade.

"You see how long the legs are, sir?" The man beside him shivered.

The colonel went on relentlessly. "If you use the length of the leg as a gauge, sir, you'll see that the lateral distance between the centermost approaching walkers is more than wide enough to pass us by at a safe margin."

He had barely finished the sentence before the first pair of AT-ATs proved him right.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

For the rest of the SMOC visit, the senators proved astoundingly mild-mannered. The Dean openly wondered if he shouldn't make the field demonstration a main point of the annual visiting program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That long-dead general died around 500 BC and is usually transliterated as Sun Tzu. As an Ancient (pre-Imperial) Chinese general, he might have thought Tarkin was onto something, though ….
> 
> A/N2: Hoth is an example of how AT-ATs move under very adverse conditions – you try looking your most agile while cautiously picking your way across a rough ice field ;-). Given the top speeds ascribed to them, though, they _will _move 15 m a second, and given the length of the legs they don't have to make a lot of steps in that time. I guess they'd move like elephants in a hurry, not in a gallop but something ... quite unique. (Likewise, they can probably climb steps up to "knee-high", meaning they could step right over the platform and not even Veers would have to duck – but that's not something they should try, while running at top speed ;).


	8. Missives

* * *

It started small, innocuous.

A brief message, sent by a nondescript civilian com-address. The latter was a detail Veers really appreciated: correspondence from His Serene Highness, Prince Bail Organa, Viceroy of Alderaan, etc., etc., would have probably raised flags of the … unwelcome kind.

_I came across young Zevulon during a SAGroup excursion visiting the Senate – quite the promising young man. You are to be envied. I presumed to keep an eye on him, for the duration of his remaining stay on Imperial Center (for such a glittering jewel, it has its dangers, too)._

_B._

From anyone else, such a message would have sounded like a thinly veiled threat of the most insidious kind. In this case, however, the colonel's reply simply reads:

_My appreciation, sir._

* * *

The next time Veers talked to his son, he found, with some bemusement, that the latter had developed a rather high opinion of politicians during their group's trip to the Imperial Senate. Or at least, as the boy mentioned in passing, the one who took the time to talk to him for a few minutes, "Wasn't too bad."

Translated from _adolescent male_ – a hard-won but essential skill for any parent of the same – that was high praise indeed.

The colonel made sure to relate the description – _and_ the underlying sentiment – to the man in question.

* * *

Another time, it's a holocall just short of frantic.

_"Every news channel on the holonet is spouting increasingly lurid headlines. Please, PLEASE tell me she wasn't involved in any part of that sensational nonsense?!"_

_"I'd be lying, sir, sorry."_

Ancient Aldera was quite the florid language, Veers learned – and as such, it lent itself to some really imaginative swearing. A working knowledge of a good two dozen other tongues, picked up over a decades-long career of arguing with pretty much every sentient species known to the galaxy, didn't hurt either.

* * *

Ordinarily, it was the diplomat that initiated conversation – but these were less than ordinary circumstances.

_Sir,_

_It has come to light that the pirates received detailed information about the likely course, armament and worth in ransom of the _Storm's End_ from a former civil servant by the name of Kilesa, who sold out 137 lives in a petty attempt to avenge himself on a teenaged girl whose actions he perceived as the primary cause for his loss of employment and social station, in total disregard of his own misdoings. _

_Shall I give him your regards, when I see that piece of scum brought to justice?_

There was a pause so long that the colonel started to wonder if his request hadn't been too crass for the staunch pacifist to stomach. When the answer came, however, it was concise and to the point:

_Please do so._

* * *

The next message somehow managed to convey resigned amusement, despite being all text.

_The Senate appears to be unusually aflutter. I'm getting more or less politely worded messages from quite a number of former colleagues, all complaining bitterly about my daughter's viciousness. Is there anything you'd like to add?_

Thinking back to the incident in question, Veers couldn't help but feel the same.

_You wouldn't want to get on her bad side, sir. But while her sense of proportion might need some adjustment, I have yet to see her attack without a cause._

* * *

In transit towards his next posting, the colonel wondered idly what the prince might think about his new commander-in-chief.

The man was a capable politician if his meteoric rise to power was any indication, but with a flair for the flamboyant and wasteful that spoke ill for his skill as a military commander .…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Short, yes. Just tidying up a few loose ends before the next chapter, coming soon ….


	9. Parting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of the perspective flip: Her Highness insisted that she had first dibs for confrontations on the Death Star ….

* * *

_Since when did that one lieutenant in charge of my guards become three?_ The actual chance to observe, albeit involuntarily, the insides of the Death Star for herself had distracted her for a while, but the way the three young men were trying to rip her clothes off with their eyes was getting hard to ignore.

Not that the same hadn't happen before, even on the Senate grounds – such was the price of rising into a sphere of power that was predominately male and ruthless – so she didn't rise to the bait. But ….

"I've never had a real princess before," one of the newcomers said. "I wonder what they taste like …."

_He cannot be actually licking his lips, can he?_ Princess Leia Organa thought in incredulous disgust – it was that or visceral terror and she would NOT succumb to the latter.

The same disgust got ready to hook heavy binders over the fingers reaching for her cheek, and use the extra leverage to break them thoroughly, when a voice so cold one could almost see the air solidify around it in glittering particles froze said fingers in mid-movement.

"You seem to have too much time on your hands, Lieutenants," it said, from behind their collective backs.

The entire group turned and hastily came to attention, at the sight of six rank platelets and a thunderous expression.

"You will meet me at my office, in five minutes, are we clear?"

Three suddenly greenish junior officers acknowledged shakily and nearly ran when a sharp, "Dismissed!" sent them away.

Next, the tall colonel turned his attention towards the armored men surrounding the princess. "You will take the prisoner to an isolation cell. No human contact, unless on Lord Vader's direct orders, understood?"

"Yessir!" It might have been just a projection of Leia's own feelings, but the metallically distorted voices sounded almost relieved.

Finally, glacial eyes found hers.

"Organa," Colonel Veers said, voice not quite as cold anymore but cutting with disappointment. "I really thought you had better sense than this."

The princess had taken on the Dark Lord of the Sith himself in righteous anger; she would take on any other Imperial grandee, too, if need be. _But this …._ The pain of rejection was breathtaking.

Before she could summon the wit to answer, the colonel had turned sharply and marched away, shoulders set rigidly in parade-grade military posture.

Holding herself just as painfully stiff Leia watched him go, that odd attunement to other people's sentiments, that was her gift and her curse, whispering in her mind that the shattered friendship was cutting him up inside as badly as it cut her.

On hindsight, nothing Vader would do to her would hurt quite as much.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

As soon as feasible, Leia Organa, last of her House, defunct princess of the late planet of Alderaan, slipped away from the revelry inside and went to seek the comforting familiarity of the night-sky.

There were no fireworks celebrating the first substantial military victory of the Alliance against the Empire – there was no need for them. Fragments of the Death Star rained down on Yavin IV in a continuous shower of shooting-stars.

"There is a legend on Alderaan …," she told the first person to approach her out there – upon reflection, it wasn't all that surprising to find it was the naïve little farmboy, that had fired the nigh-impossible, one-in-a-million shot that had wrested said victory from the jaws of utter annihilation in the nick of time.

"… it says that every shooting star is a soul lost off-planet, finally coming home."

Silence hung heavily between them for a moment.

"That's a lot of souls lost up there, for sure," a strangely brittle voice replied. "Guess, this is as close to home as they can make it."

_Denon,_ old memory supplied unbidden, and _Father said, he has a son my age_.

Aloud Leia said, "There will be meteor showers all over the Alderaan system for the next few thousand years. All the lost souls of Alderaan, trying to get home."

And suddenly she was crying against that slim but wiry shoulder, crying and crying until exhaustion claimed her.


	10. End Credits

* * *

Written and directed by  
_My Muse_

Produced by  
_The Author_

Executive Producer  
_Ditto _

Starring  
_Julian Glover _Carrie Fisher_ Jimmy Smits  
_as _  
Colonel M. J. Veers _Princess Leia Organa_ Prince Bail Organa_

Production designer  
_Author's imagination _

Special Visual Effects  
_The author's skill + the readers' imagination_

Music by  
_Take your pick, John Williams ought to be a good choice, though _

Supporting Cast

_Undersecretary Kilesa – _Insert-least-favorite-actor-here

_Miss Hevgon – _Pretty in a cocktail dress, but you don't really see her face

_Nihoan Lieutenant – _Too much grime and exhaustion on his face to recognize

_Volcano god fanatic – _Could be anyone under those robes

_Leader of the Alderaani strike team – _I was thinking: Liam Cunningham

_Lt. Koa – _i.e. Daniel Bess

_Stormtrooper #1 –_ Andy (I know who they are …)

_Stormtrooper #2 – _Philip (… even with the helmets off)

_Alderaani Sec-chief _– Peter Geddis

_Tonuga Molokai – _One of Serkis' Folk

_Winter – _Katee Sackhoff could probably pull it off

_MedCorps officer – _Army doctor, huh? I vote: Jude Law

_Major Arabanth – _Saw this guy once, at a SW convention, would've been perfect

_Colonel Ilfur – _Want the job, Michael?

_Commander Sobaka – _Or that one?

_Major Lonrae – _He's ladyofdarkstar's boy, ask her!

_Young Ensign – _Youngster-of-your-choice

_Captain Skoor – _That's up to Lcsaf

_Cpt. Meno – _Can't properly see, he's on combat-duty, wearing a helmet, duh!

_Stormtroopers #3-10 – _Same as before, plus their buddies

_Pirates #1-6 – _Arenberg, Crook, McNally … (hey, they had the resume!)

_Lavender-haired lady – _Your favorite Old Grand Dame in a cameo

_Ezarin Soru – _Hmm, someone suave, a young Baldwin, perhaps

_Officer #1 – _Not that important

_Officer #2 – _Ditto

_Cadet #58_ – Author cameo, yay!

_Senator Basz – _If I could, I'd cast Marlon Brando here, for a couple of lines that utterly steal the scene

_Senator Telen – _Hard one, that, how to find a forgettable face?

_Dean of Carida Academy _– John Franklyn-Robbins

_Cadet Felth – _The wiki wouldn't tell – Arthur Howell, maybe?

_Lieutenant #1_ – I picture JJ Field, for one …

_Lieutenant #2 _– … the other two guys …

_Lieutenant #3 _–… are up for grabs, though.

_Farmboy – _Mark Hamill

and

_David Prowse / James Earl Jones as Darth Vader _

Plenty of background people, who neither appear by name nor have a speaking role

_Loosely based on the story first told by George Lucas and his team of professionals_

_… _

_… _

_... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me? Well, in that case … go on to the Outtakes!


	11. Outtake 1: Afterwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So many people asked for a meeting between Rebel Leia and Veers … _

* * *

The whole Alliance outpost on Havricus was fairly thrumming with excitement when she arrived.

"We couldn't verify it yet, ma'am, but we think we might have caught us Vader's new general when we captured that shuttle, yesterday," the commandant of said outpost told her, when she asked for the reasons of their urgent request for a member of High-Command and her in particular, if possible. Though visibly striving for a calm demeanor, he was just as giddy as his men.

"Maybe, with your personal acquaintance with so many top ranks on Coruscant – no offense meant, of course, ma'am – you could identify the man for us?"

Leia Organa nodded grimly. The circles she'd spent most of her youth in _were_ the ones the highest command posts of the Empire were usually recruited from, and it would have been the height of foolishness not to make use of the fact.

She was running through a list of likely candidates in her head while the commandant called up the picture taken from an observation camera in the brig. Then she took one look at the tall man staring straight ahead, as unmovable as his own granite statue – and promptly had to draw up every source of strength she possessed, up to and including the way that keen young farmboy smiled (_and even that scoundrel Solo's cocky grin, damn the man!),_ to keep her reaction from showing on her face.

"I need to talk to that man in person," she said, a bit more harshly than she would have under ordinary circumstances, "to make sure of his identity."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Slightly disheveled uniform jacket and crossed arms held rigidly against the torso. There was a tightness about his jaw that spoke of pain, but if it was an injury of the flesh or wounded pride due to being captured that caused it, Leia couldn't tell at first glance.

He looked up, a deliberate second after the door had fully opened, expression stony until he recognized her. Then, for a brief moment, his eyes lit up, taking her back to the carefree days of her youth and sharp-tongued snipe duels fought with (both allied with and opposing) a man that – despite his obvious allegiances – she just knew was _safe_.

Reality caught up with both of them quickly enough – _gone were the days where a man in grey uniform could be _safe_ in any way_ – and a deep-seated anger abruptly smothered the light.

"Organa," he said coldly. No _'Princess'_, anymore, the formal title that had turned into a term of endearment without him really noticing; or _'Girl'_, or _'Child'_, as he'd called her when growing exasperated.

_But they were way past _exasperation_ these days, weren't they?_

"Veers," she gave back, with her head held high – and had to bite her tongue to keep from calling him _'Colonel'_.

He glared at her for long seconds, before his eyes slid past her, taking in the lone guard hanging back at her express orders, and that reminder of previous antics was evidently enough to throw caution and all rules of engagement to the winds.

"Did I ever meet the passionate child I saw or was it always the shrewd rebel, playing me for a fool?" he demanded to know, eyes just as cold as the tone but she could feel betrayal, sharp and brittle, lurking behind the ice.

"No!" the reaction was as unthinking as it was fierce, and afterwards Leia couldn't have said who was more taken aback by the outbreak.

"Nihoa," she went on, somewhat more composedly. "After Nihoa my father told me that I couldn't always rely on luck and the kindness of singular men, and started to introduce me to ... more substantial allies."

"Then Cardua was the act of a sentimental fool!" Veers said harshly.

"As much as storming a pirate ship was or your actions on the Death Star!" Leia gave back hotly.

"I would have done the same for anyone else!" he snapped back. "In fact, I had no idea you were aboard the pirate ship until we came face-to-face!"

"I know." _Chivalric,_ her father had once called him, his first, unthinking instinct always to fight for those weaker than him, for no better reason than that he could and they might not be able to defend themselves.

"I know," Leia repeated – and all but started pleading. "You are a good man. So why can't you see that the Empire is anything but?!"

Veers stared at her, expressionlessly.

"The Empire has flaws, horrible flaws," he finally said, slowly. "But you forget one thing: I'm old enough to remember the Republic, and that Republic you idolize so much _was worse!_"

For a moment she returned the blank stare _– he sounded so utterly, terribly convinced._

"How can you say that?!" she burst out then. "The Republic was a democracy, not a tyranny! It didn't just put humans in all positions of power and ruthlessly suppressed all the other species!"

"Well," Veers drawled, "we _are_ the most numerous species in the galaxy. By sheer numbers, we _should_ be in charge – isn't that how democracy works?"

"No!" Leia shot back, flatly. "Democracy is about giving _everyone_ a voice."

He openly scoffed. "Oh yes, I remember that. The problem is, girl, that if you try to listen to _everyone_, then _no one_ gets heard. That's what killed off the old Republic, in fact: endless arguments, going in circles, while around them actual worlds went up in flames!"

_No use arguing the finer points of political theory, obviously. _She tried to get back on the previous track. "The Empire actively allows the enslavement of non-humans!"

"Which, of course, is so much worse than actively allowing the enslavement of _humans_," Veers countered sarcastically.

"What?! But …"

He all but smirked at her. "The Republic allowed each planet to be ruled by whatever power happened to be in control there. That includes plenty of crime syndicates – often Hutt-owned – dealing in human trafficking.

Usually dealing in other sentients, too," he added as an afterthought.

He was provoking her deliberately, she could feel it – and successfully, too, because Veers knew her all too well. For what reason, Leia had no idea – _well, she might have one, but she _refused_ to think he might have turned self-destructive! _

_Vader's Own, _a chilling voice at the back of her mind reminded._ The locals really caught who they think, so **Stop ignoring the truth, girl!**_

"Stop twisting my words!" she snapped, voice sharp with frustration.

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They argued on. Well, mostly Leia argued, Veers brushed her off, though once or twice he was drawn into trying the opposite direction.

At some point he'd stood, even started to pace, but the movement had finally snapped the limits of her long-suffering guard's tolerance. The look the general had thrown the other man had been a curious mix of utterly unimpressed and tacit approval, but nonetheless he kept his distance from the threatening gun.

The former princess couldn't have told afterwards how long it had taken until he abruptly stopped, facing her at the nearest point of his dizzying two-and-a-half-step (one way) circuit.

"This grows tedious, Organa. I'm sure your compatriots appreciate the effort you've put into trying to soften me up for them, but by now they must have grown impatient. Why don't you leave and let them ask their questions, now?"

Her jaw dropped.

"Wh… ? We are not the Empire!" she threw back icily. "We would never stoop to the methods you just implied!"

A minimal twitch at the corners of his mouth, the shadow of a stillborn, bitter smile. "No, _you_ wouldn't. But Madine and I, we played the same game long enough – we both know the rules."

"You know Madine?!"

Her mind started racing. She had never really warmed up to the man, not like Riekan or Mothma (_people you know since childhood – not fair!)_ or Ackbar, even. Oh, Leia knew she could trust him with her life – and, more importantly, the lives of her fellow rebels – but Madine had never struck her as safe, he always seemed a little off-balance, always on edge.

She had never before considered that said edge might be the shards of something broken inside the man. _How ironic, that it would take an out-of-hand refusal from his opposite number to see what it was._

In his own way, the former commando leader was an honorable man, too; and while he'd made his decision to switch sides for the right reasons, _for the right side_, as far as Leia was concerned, deep inside it must feel like a betrayal. She could almost hear the tiny voice at the back of Madine's mind, hissing _Oathbreaker_.

Caught up in the sudden insight, she almost missed Veers' reply.

"Professionally, yes. He would never let so much valuable tactical information slip through his fingers. Can't afford to, really."

Gritting her teeth, Leia ground out, "We. Are. Not. …," but got no farther than that before he threw up his hands in disgust and turned his back on her, about to restart pacing.

Not used – _not willing!_ – to be ignored, she made another step forward – and he swung back.

She had just enough time to realize that she was now within reach of those long arms before a large hand wrapped around her throat, pulling her close while the other arm wrapped around her arms and torso to whirl her around until her back was pressed against his chest, feet dangling.

For a moment she was too stunned to fight back; she was usually very good at gauging people's intention towards her, especially those bearing her ill will, and yet, that attack had taken her entirely by surprise.

A soft whisper, barely more than hot breath against the nape of her neck. "Don't play with soldiers, little girl, you only will get hurt."

The young guard had raised his blaster reflexively, but fear to hit Leia made him hesitate for a moment, and then she was already airborne, thrown at the other rebel like a rag-doll, and they went down in a tangle of limbs.

The general was right behind her, stomping down hard on the hand still clutching the gun. Then he reached down to pick up the blaster, flip it over and pull the trigger, in one smooth movement that took no longer than it took for Leia to roll over onto her back. The muzzle of the blaster was less than a handbreadth above her nose, close enough to hear the faint hiss of the containment field and smell the ozone.

"Last chance, Princess, to return to the side of law and order."

Leia shook her head. "No chance. The destruction of the Death Star is as much on my head as it is on the one who pulled the trigger."

A grave nod and the world went white.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Point-blank headshots were nasty things to recover from, even if the gun was set on stun.

Leia fought through the devastating nausea and the blinding headache long enough to hear that the blaster had stayed on stun, just as it had been set when Veers had retrieved it from the knocked-over rebel soldier, until a bolt of plasma had taken a chunk out of the wall near the general's chest. Then, it had been switched to kill-shots and the body-count had started rising.

The Havrician commandant seemed shocked that the captured Imperial had managed to find and fight his way out of the installation, in less time than it had taken the Alliance soldiers to go into full alarm, and made good of his escape.

Leia could have told him that Lord Vader had no use for incompetence. She didn't feel like it. She forced herself to stay articulate for long enough to make sure the man would evacuate the outpost post-haste, before she surrendered herself again to fuzzy oblivion.

Her last coherent thought was, oddly enough, _Stay safe_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: All opinions voiced within this snippet are the opinions of the respective characters, who are all products of their own time and place. They don't necessarily coincide with any opinions I may hold on different systems of government ….
> 
> A/N2: Last of the chapters to appear in any chronological order – or to fit (if you squint charitably) into the confines of canon; from now on, everything goes.


	12. Outtake 2: What could have been ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The way the whole thing could have gone sideways, if they'd met just a little earlier in life …._
> 
> * * *
> 
> A/N: Slight Gore Warning; and I apologize in advance for a necessary … sacrifice. AU, obviously.

* * *

Supposedly, it was a great honor to be chosen for guard duty on the illustrious center of the galaxy. In Captain Veers experience, however, there had been precious little honor to be found on Coruscant when he'd last been there, in the final year of the Republic – and renaming the whole thing had not really changed that sorry state.

Orders were orders, though, and so he stood, still and silently, at the head of some twenty troopers and pretended to be part of the scenery – just some more, oddly placed statues adorning the portico of some grandiose edifice belonging to the periphery of the Imperial Palace.

The utter disregard everyone else was showing, _including_ the upper echelons of the military to whose staff he was presumably attached, certainly helped to reinforce the impression. It was a rare critter indeed, that treated the guards as more than organic figurines and, like that tall man in dark blue who'd just passed by, inclined his head in a tiny nod at Veers, a minimal but at least existent sign of acknowledgement as fellow sentient beings.

The captain had just resigned himself to another five deadly boring hours until the end of his shift, when someone cried out, voice so full of alarm that Veers was moving before he realized that the voice in question belonged to a little girl. Deeply embarrassed to have overreacted like that – young children had quite a different definition of _alarm_ compared to seasoned soldiers – he was about to slide to a stop when a piece of decorative shrubbery exploded into a cloud of colorful petals and woody splinters, right next to the girl.

_Low coherency blaster bolt_, a peripheral part of the captain's mind identified automatically. _Low penetration power against armor, but devastating against soft targets, since the resultant dissipation-on-impact spread super-heated plasma across a large splash area_.

The troopers under Veers' command, with their blind trust in his leadership, had not experienced that whiplash moment of conflicting assessments – and so they reacted much faster than he could. Fortunately, they did not even require further orders: if someone fired unauthorized shots in their presence, they fired back. At the obscured angle of the shot, the actual position of the shooter was difficult to determine; so, what they did was mainly to lay down a wide-spread suppressing fire, but they still bought the captain time enough to take stock of the situation.

Panic was quickly clearing the immediate area of potential victims – in exchange for the unavoidable toll of panic-induced tumbles and related injuries – barring the aforementioned girl who had ducked behind the ornamental container holding the next arrangement of living flowers.

_Decent choice of cover, actually: two times ten centimeters of solid blue Indrexu granite, plus nearly two hundred liters of moist soil, ought to stop the blaster bolts quite effectively. _

For the moment, the child was safe – if marooned in the middle of a wide, open courtyard, that held no cover big enough to shelter anyone larger than a tiny six-to-eight-year-old, rolled into a tight ball.

Alerted by panicky pedestrians streaming past them, the troops posted at the adjacent buildings quickly filled the com-lines with urgent requests for situation updates. When no higher authority asserted itself, Captain Veers sharply cut through the chatter and took charge. He commandeered the entirety of troops stationed in the vicinity to put each of the skyscrapers they were guarding into lockdown, and then perform a level-by-level search to apprehend the sniper.

Then the captain went to implement a diversion with a very practical basis. He was just ordering his sergeant to keep a close eye on the surrounding buildings, in case his next actions drew the shooter from cover, lured out by the inviting target, when Veers caught a movement of dark blue from the corner of his eye.

_"Papa, Papa, look out!" _had been the exact words the girl had cried, he recalled dimly – and the moment the tall man broke cover, the tactical part of the captain's mind screamed: _Trap!_

Political assassinations were not as rampant anymore as they'd been in the last death throes of the dying Republic, but still, they happened. There was no way to determine if the child had been scared up and missed purposefully, to bait the trap more compellingly, or if the assassin had just made good use of the opportunity; in any case, the running man didn't get five steps into the courtyard before the first bolt of plasma streaked towards his back.

The first shot was a graze, causing the man to weave between the greenery but didn't break his step; but then a second gunman opened fire. The tall man made a final lunge across the body of his daughter but moved no further.

There was little satisfaction to be found in the fact that the second shooter had exposed himself to get a clear line of fire to his target, to the point where a trio of heavy blaster bolts tore into his upper torso a split-second after he'd pulled the trigger, when Veers could see the oily smoke rise from dark blue fabric from twenty steps away.

With a final nod at his sergeant, the captain went into a sprint, too, an armored trooper mirroring his moves on either side.

Sliding into a crouch next to the smoking body and the screaming child trapped beneath its bulk, Veers carefully put a hand to a blue-clad shoulder. A minimal movement of the head and glazing dark eyes tried to focus. The captain saw the injured man's lips move, but with lungs that didn't deserve the name anymore there was no sound. It didn't take special abilities to construe the unspoken words, though.

"I'll keep her safe," Veers promised the dying man.

Following actions to words, he used his hold on the man's shoulder to lift the body far enough to reach for the girl and pull her out. As soon as feasible, he changed his grip to push her face against his shoulder, much larger hand cradling the back of her head, to make sure she would never see the smoking ruin of her father's back.

Leaving the dead body to the troopers that had taken up position against the shrubs on either side, the captain carried his flailing bounty back to the shelter of the entrance hall. Small fists clawed at him, alternating with attempts to wriggle out of his grasp. If not for some experience with squirming toddlers[1], she might have succeeded – for a creature that tiny, the kid sure could put up a good fight.

It was the constant stream of high-pitched yelling, a mix of terrified pleading and furious demands, that nearly got to Veers, though.

"Let me go, let me go! Papa! Papa! You need to help Papa! Go back and help him! Help him! Please! Oh, please! Help him, please! Papa! Papa! …."

On and on and on it went, and nothing would stop it until the captain swore, meaning every word of it, incidentally, that his men would take good care of the girl's papa, but he – _Veers_ – had promised said papa to keep _her _safe, and for now that meant keeping her out of the fray and under cover.

Inordinately perceptive eyes scrutinized his face for a moment, as if to gauge his sincerity, before the child finally went compliant and allowed herself to get checked over for physical injuries, properly.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Veers had just convinced himself that the girl had come away with just a few bruises and scratches – _though, he hoped as hell that the exploded scrub hadn't been poisonous, as some of the scratches still held dark, woody splinters embedded in the flesh_ – when his comlink went wild. Apparently, the search troops had run into the remaining snipers – _and there was more than one!_ – who, finding their escape routes unexpectedly blocked, now tried their luck in a vicious shoot-out inside the building.

The captain swore under his breath – but quickly bit his tongue when a dark-haired head tilted with interest – and hurriedly finished wrapping the child into the blanket someone had scrounged up. Standard-issue thermo-reflective foil, about as far from cuddly as could get, but nonetheless, it would help the tiny, possibly shocky body retain body-heat.

Veers had just picked up the girl again, intent to hand the child to a subordinate to take her over to the landing platform assigned for (the hopefully soon to be) arriving ambulances, when the girl's eyes slid past his shoulder and went wide.

Combat-reflexes kicking in, the captain whirled, sidearm at the ready – and froze. Another handbreadth and he would have taken his own arm off, moving against the crimson blade of a lightsaber the way he almost had.

Sheer instinct made him put the bulk of his body between the child and the sizzling blade, even if a rational part of Veers' mind knew that the saber would slice through two unarmored bodies as easily as through one.

The rhythm of the ventilator seemed oddly quick, almost like a man panting from exertion after a sprint – _and why not, the sounds and sights of the firefight had sent a lot of people running, and the Sithlord might be one of the few inhabitants of Coruscant with the inclination to actually rush_ towards_ the battle .…_

"What is going on here?!" Lord Vader demanded to know.

Reflexively straightening his posture, as much as possible while still carrying a little girl set against his hip, Veers gave a report of the situation.

"Who are you?" the Sithlord questioned next, pointing at the child in the captain's arm.

Pointing with a hand still gripping the ignited blade, which meant putting the saber close enough to the girl's face that Veers could feel the heat against his shoulder, even through three layers of heavy-duty fabric.

The child didn't seem cowed, miraculously. More like the opposite, actually ….

"I am Leia Organa, of the House Organa, of Alderaan," she proclaimed tetchily.

"Organa." The mechanic baritone drew out the name, as if testing it from every angle. The black helmet tilted, scanning the girl's face with the same curious intensity.

Then Lord Vader's attention – and the tip of the blade – turned back at the captain.

"You will keep her safe, with your life, Captain," the Sithlord pronounced, more statement than anything else, but Veers thought it safer to acknowledge the order, nonetheless.

"Yes, milord!" he told the swirling cloak, as Lord Vader pushed past him without another word, heading towards the site of the remaining firefight.

Staring after the _… man?_ ... in confusion brought him no answers, so the captain took another good look at the girl in his arm.

"Who" _– the hells! – _"are you?"

Dark eyes glared at him. "I already said that! And I know perfectly well that guards can hear and see at least as well, if not better, than other people!"

Veers shook his head. "I heard your name, yes, kid, but who are you in relation to Lord Vader?"

The girl twisted, to look in the direction the Sithlord had disappeared. "That was Lord Vader?! I thought he would be taller!"

_That_ was pretty rich, coming from a child that barely came up to Veers' belt-buckle, and the Sithlord had another twenty centimeters or so, even on the tall captain.

Something of that thought must have shown on his face, drawing an indignant frown from the little girl. "What? The way people talk about him he ought to look like a dragon! My father says …."

Her face crumbled. And Veers found himself with an armful of desperately sobbing child.

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In the wake of the Sithlord's arrival, the place soon started flooding with armored troops. A squad of them, set apart from the standard troopers by subtle differences of their armor, took it upon themselves to not only form a protective wall around Veers and the child, but also to herd the captain and his charge towards a waiting LAAT/i gunship hovering on the far side of the building.

Normally, Veers wouldn't have let a mere squad leader direct him anywhere without a very good explanation, and certainly not while he had still a combat zone to clear. In this case, however, the underlying orders had obviously come from _way _above even a captain's pay grade_._

Said squad leader did at least possess the courtesy to remove his helmet, once they were under way. He looked to be roughly the same age as Veers, but was probably about a decade younger – and yet had seen at least the same, if not more years of active combat duty. A clone.

_501st, Vader's Fist, rumored to be formed almost entirely from veteran clone units. Veterans who fought alongside Vader since the Clone Wars …._

As soon as feasible – meaning once the overstressed child had fallen prey to exhaustion and cried herself into a fitful sleep – the captain cornered the man. "Who is the girl?"

"Never seen her before, sir." The tone was picture-perfect obeisance, and yet ….

"To keep your officers in the dark and feed them bullshit is a time-honored tradition, I admit. But people already took potshots at the kid today, so _Stars help me_, if you keep anything from me that gets her killed as a result of me not knowing ... I don't care what Lord Vader does with me, but I _will _find a way to get back at you for that!"

The clone met Veers' glare evenly, staring back with all the impassiveness of his breed.

"I don't know who she is, sir," he said with great finality.

Another few seconds of silent staring match and the olive-skinned man inclined his head minimally.

"This goes no further than this unit," he said softly, but it didn't take the missing _sir_ for the captain to note the underlying razor-edge of steel. "But if his lordship trusts you with _her _….

I know Lord Vader had a wife," he went on, "I know she was killed in the Jedi insurrection – and I know that everyone who has mentioned her since _is dead_."

The clone let that sink in, briefly. "I heard that she had the same coloring as the girl. And that they were hoping for a child, by the time she died."

For a moment Veers tried, and failed – _and was deliriously happy to do so!_ – to imagine losing his wife and child and then meet another, nearly a decade later, that could have been a spitting image of his son.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The building they eventually arrived in was functional but bare. Veers had seen barrack rooms with more personality – had in fact spent most of his adult life in barrack rooms with more personality. Even so, there was a bench to lay the child down, still wrapped in her silvery blanket, and the captain did so.

Afterwards, he would have sworn that he'd taken his eyes off her only for a second, but the next thing Veers knew was a hoarse, but nonetheless forceful soprano cutting across the rhythmic whoosh of the ventilator.

"Why did you come for me?" the girl – _Leia, he ought to remember that by now, or rather: _Princess Leia_, seeing how _Organa_ was the ruling house of Alderaan, if Veers wasn't mistaken _– demanded to know, attaching a "milord" for politeness' sake only as an afterthought.

Lord Vader regarded the tiny figure that had jumped up to waylay him for a moment, without a visibly reaction to the imperious tone.

"I heard you call out, child," he said then. "I heard you call … for your father."

Literally twice as large, in any dimension, the Sithlord towered over the little girl, but neither his size nor his reputation seemed to intimidate her in any way. If anything, the tiny princess looked annoyed at having to crane back her head so far.

"I cried as loud as I could," she conceded. "But still …."

She trailed off, biting her lip.

Against all expectations, Lord Vader went down on one knee, to get, if not face-to-face, then at least as close as possible to an equal level with the girl. He even put a black-gauntleted hand gently against the side of the child's face, and, though warily, the princess accepted the comforting touch.

"You did what you could." The mechanic baritone was as soft as the vocoder allowed – or maybe it _could_ go softer still, seeing how there was a pause, where Veers could hear nothing, before the girl nodded jerkily.

The comforting hand fell away and his lordship abruptly changed the topic.

"What do you know about your mother, child?"

"She's dead," the girl replied flatly.

The Sithlord gave a full-body flinch. Perhaps as shocked by the display of emotion as the captain was (if probably not for the same reasons), the child unconsciously made a step forward, to place tiny hands on a black-armored forearm.

"She was sick, very sick, for a long time. So, she had to go rest," she said, in a clumsy attempt at consolation.

"She didn't want, but she had to," the princess went on, voice growing forlorn as her orphaned state returned to the forefront of her mind.

But, as is had in the immediate aftermath of the fatal shots, terror and grief turned frustration turned anger within the space of a heart-beat, and the small hands clenched into fists, even while the girl's eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "Not like my birth mama, who didn't want me and just left!"

It was the oddest thing, to see that quicksilver mood swing mirrored, if on a much more powerful, much more dangerous scale. Black leather creaked under the strain as much larger hands fisted.

"Who told you that?" the mechanic baritone demanded to know, menace so thick on the tone that Veers could all but taste it on the air.

Undaunted, even in the eye of the hurricane, the child snapped back defiantly, "No one did! But if she'd loved me at all, she wouldn't have gone away without ever saying goodbye to me!"

"Your mother," Lord Vader started, every syllable heavy with threat – and some other emotion the captain couldn't quite identify, "loved you very, very much, before you were even born. Never, ever doubt that again!"

The tiny girl stared at the much larger Sithlord.

"You know my mam…, my birth mother, I mean?" she asked incredulously.

The gleaming helmet was inclined minutely.

"My father, too? I heard Papa say once that no one had ever seen him, but of course that's impossible, my mother must have seen him, would have been silly, otherwise …." Caught in a riptide of emotions too strong for her petite body, the little princess started rambling.

Something … _clicked_, and Captain Veers suddenly knew two things with terrible certainty:_ One_, his life expectancy – and that of every other witness in the room – would end the moment the Sithlord remembered their presence; and_ Two_, the identity of that unseen sire.

"We thought it would be safer, if nobody knew," Lord Vader all but whispered, possibly unaware of his slip of tongue as he lost himself in his memories. "I would have done anything to keep her safe …."

Dark eyes went impossibly wide. "You?! You are …?"

The Sithlord gave another flinch, but nodded tentatively. And for the second time in as many hours, the highest-ranking officer in the room found himself with an armful of sobbing Alderaani princess.

There was a swirl of black fabric that had nothing to do with Lord Vader's arms moving, and the long cape wrapped itself around the newly found pair like a mantling bird of prey.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The princess was still safely cocooned in a swath of black armor-weave when the Sithlord finally stood.

Veers involuntarily braced himself.

The reflexive action helped keeping his feet, when instead of the expected physical attack icy fingers reached into his skull. Instinctively, the captain resisted the intrusion, and the ghostly fingers dug in claws. Not really hard yet, but tiny pinpricks of pure agony that promised a lot worse.

_Do not fight me, Captain_, a low baritone advised. Non-mechanical but unmistakably Vader's, it seemed to bypass the ears completely.

"No, milord." Veers wasn't sure if he'd managed to get the words out aloud, but there was a hint of approval in the mental touch and the icy fingers were back, rifling through the memories of the last few hours before they withdrew, satisfied.

"You know how to handle a young child." Again, more statement than question.

The captain swallowed, suddenly sick with fear that had nothing to do with his own precarious situation. Nothing to it, though – his familial situation (including home address) was documented in his personnel file, even if his lordship hadn't cared to pick up that particular tidbit in his rummagings. "Yes, milord."

"And likewise you understand why I cannot be careful enough when it comes to the continued safety of my child."

Veers nodded, resignedly. "Yes, milord."

The princess started to squirm and the Sithlord adjusted his grip, but against the captain's faint hope black armor-weave wasn't used to block the child from the sight of the impending execution.

Instead, Lord Vader set his daughter back to her own feet and gently disentangled her from his cape.

"You have already promised twice, today, to keep her safe. A third time would be redundant, I believe. Nonetheless, Captain, I expect you to protect my daughter by all means necessary.

Red," the clone leader next to Veers snapped to attention, "see to it that the captain has every resource he might require at his disposal."

A black gauntlet gently ruffled through dissolving braids of dark hair. "There are things I have to take care of now, child. But I will be back by evening."

A final glance at the captain and Veers could feel the air around him constrict in warning, for a moment. "Captain, do not disappoint me."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Veers was still staring after the departing Sithlord when a tiny hand impatiently tugged at his sleeve.

"What is _your _name?" the little princess demanded to know. "_You_ haven't said, yet, actually, and I won't call you _Captain!_ That isn't a real name …."

* * *

[1] Slippery critters, those, and so frighteningly fragile that dropping them was absolutely NOT an option. A bit of experience, though, and it was possible to adjust the hard-won skill of predicting an opponent's next move in hand-to-hand combat to predicting a toddler's next dash for freedom, too. His one attempt to explain this to a group of young mothers, admiring the rare sight of an adult male handling a child that young with some competence, had not gone over well, though. Most of the women had snatched up their children and hurried away, muttering ominously – and his own wife had all but rolled on the floor with hysterical laughter ….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wookiepedia tells me that Veers was a major when he married and sired a son – a son that appears to be roughly the same age as Luke and Leia. So, the elder Veers rose to major in his late twenties _(not bad!)_ and then _stayed_ a major for almost two decades, seeing how he's only fairly recently made colonel, in his mid-forties, at the time of the first Death Star's destruction … uh, what? I might accept that his early career took place while the Clone Wars were still hot and promotions quick thanks to high losses, while afterwards his lack of pedigree was a hindrance for further advancements; but honestly, I think the respective creators didn't bother to do the math. So at least in _my_ timeline, Mrs. Veers married a dashing young lieutenant, who made captain soon after the birth of his son. He then became major before the boy was ten and colonel while Zev was in his teens … (my main timeline, anyways, who knows how this AU would be going … ;).


End file.
